Bird On The Wire
by GalInTheMoon
Summary: Still dealing with the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D, the world adjusting to the Avengers, and personal revelations. Hawkeye and the Avengers face a new threat. One with a personal vendetta. Rated T for language. Multi-genre: Suspense/Family/Whump/Hurt-Comfort
1. Chapter 1

This directly follows events in my story _Shadows. _You don't have to read that story to get this one but if you want to know my take on how Clint's hearing was damaged just skip to chap.3 (of _Shadows) _for the details.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

**Shout out to ELOSHAZZY and Rose Demica!** Eloshazzy had a brilliant idea that I am totally using and they both kickstarted my attempt at this story with their kind reviews. Thank you!

Rated T for language.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers...shocker right.

**Bird On The Wire**

By: GalInTheMoon

"_Luck is a very thin wire between survival and disaster, and not many people can keep their balance on it."-Hunter S. Thompson_

Tony looked at the latest schematics coming in from Stark Industries. He was going to have to go down there and give the gang a little pep talk. This stuff was just unimaginative. The ice cubes shifted in his glass of scotch, reminding him of the drinks presence. He finished it off in one gulp before the ice cubes could melt any more than they already had. Waste not, want not, he thought as he walked over to the make shift mini-bar in his lab to refill his glass. He passed Banner who was deep into samples taken from a bad guy with a knack for disappearing...literally.

Tony paused, having heard steps coming, he watched a moment to see who it was. Clint walked through the doorway.

"Barton." Tony said as he walked back to his work station, placing the drink on its glass surface. "To what do we owe the honor?"

Clint nodded to Stark as he came in slowly, looking around at the floating graphs and numbers that surrounded Tony before catching sight of Banner, "Hey Bruce."

The doctor held up his hand before returning to work.

"Want a drink?" Tony asked.

"No thanks." He bit his lip as he continued to look around.

Tony watched him, curious, and followed his line of sight. "Come down here for the view?"

Clint glanced his way, "I uh...I thought we could talk about those arrowheads."

He had been pushing Clint to talk shop with him about some new tips. He was always ready for a new project and he saw a beautiful opportunity in Barton's weapon. After all, the man was walking around with little more than a stick and some string. It just rubbed his soul the wrong way. "Finally, Cupid, I was starting to think you were blowing off my advances."

"I doubt anyone could keep you off their back for long Stark." He walked around the table, still looking at the glowing information.

Tony raised his glass, "You and Pepper should talk."

Clint glared his way, "That's not happening."

Tony shrugged, "I'm just saying. That woman can tease..." he stopped and looked at Clint, who was clearly begging him to shut-up with his eyes. Some things even he knew to drop."So, you got ideas for me?"

"Roses and chocolate." Clint grinned. It was too easy to pass up.

"And all this time I thought it was diamonds and skyscrapers." He brought up an empty file already titled _Cupid_. "Hit me with 'em." Tony said.

Clint scratched the top of his ear,"Think you could make a boomerang-style head, ya'know get it to come back to me."

"I can make anything Barton. It's just a question of how long it will take."

Clint tightened his lips into a thin line before he continued, "Alright how about one that pops open into cuffs, maybe a lightweight stunner, a drill tip..."

Tony stared at him a moment, curious as to when exactly he would need a drill.

Reading the look, Clint shrugged, "Could be useful."

Tony brushed it aside, "Question." he raised a finger, "You would have to hit someones wrist to open the handcuffs. I can make them so they open instantaneously on contact but uh...broken wrists not an issue for you?"

"Not really, beats some of the alternatives. Anyway, the wrists in question would probably be too strong to break."  
Tony pursed his lips, "Fair enough and by stunner, you're thinking, like, a stun gun?"

"Yeah."

"Should be easy."

"Not too heavy though. Don't want it to go deep."

"Sure." Tony shrugged as if it were the most normal, obvious point, the ice in his glass clinked from the movement. They grew silent a moment. Stark was already mocking up the prototypes in his head. "The boomerang heads'll be tricky. Could take me a while."

"I'll just be impressed if you pull it off." Clint folded his arms.

"Consider yourself impressed feathers." He moved around some of the screens floating before him.

Clint switched his weight from one foot to the other, his hands going into his jean pockets, "One more thing Stark."

He glanced back at Barton who was taking a deep breath. "You do much work in bio-tech? Integrated prosthetics, implants, that sort of thing?"

Stark stole a glance toward Banner who was still wrapped up in his work. His look saying, _you believe this guy. _He raised his hand to the glowing disc on his chest, "A little." When Barton dropped his head but didn't continue he added before taking a drink, "This about your hearing aids Barton?"

"Yeah." Clint looked over his shoulder at Banner who, though still immersed in his work, stole a quick glance at the two. Barton hadn't wanted to discuss this with what felt like a roomful. But he had to take the opportunity when he could get it, even if it wasn't ideal. But he couldn't hide his unease.

Seeing his discomfort Tony said, "Don't get your panties in a wad. It's been all over the place this week. It's not like you had much chance of any of us not knowing." He wasn't trying to be insensitive, but if he knew anything about Barton it was that the man didn't take to being obviously coddled. He paused before continuing, "Let me see 'em." When Clint started to remove one Tony stopped him, waving the penlight that was suddenly in his hand, "Leave it." He shone the light into Clint's left ear. The implant was small, about the size of a watch battery, nestled just inside his ear canal. Hidden but accessible. Only the edge showed as a thin rim around the aid placed on top of it. Wires that looked like nothing more than veins beneath the skin ran down to his inner ear. "Looks like a nice piece of work. You wanting me to work on them?" He took a quick glance behind Barton's ear at the small scar that ran along his head where his ear met his scalp. He was trying to figure the tech involved and he'd had a nagging suspicion since first hearing of Barton's deficit. There was just something familiar. He went back to examining the device when Clint answered, "No just trying to plan ahead."

Tony stepped back. He was frowning, "Go ahead and take one out will ya." When Clint looked at him questioning the change, he added, "I'm working on an idea."

Clint removed the left and placed it in Tony's open hand. Tony quickly moved it to the table in front of him. He moved some of the glowing screen around, and within seconds, a scanned and enlarged image of the aid was floating before them. Tony turned it around and zoomed in a little more.

Bruce got up, now interested, he walked over to the glowing image, and stood beside Barton's right. "How small is this?" He asked the archer. Clint held up two pinched fingers to show the size. Bruce readjusted his glasses. He had already heard about Clint's hearing. Tony wasn't kidding when he said it was all-over the place. The media loved to show the more "human" side of the heroes since New York. Once S.H.I.E.L.D came down with not so little noise, and all their secret files were released, the human interest stories turned less innocent. Someone was on the hunt for more than a good headline. The stories were taking on an angry, and suspicious tone. The exploitation of Clint's supposed impairment was being used as a passive aggressive stab at the Avengers themselves on a very public scale.

And so, even though Bruce had been surprised when he had first heard of it. He was more intrigued now, as a doctor and a scientist, at the technology involved in Barton's implanted device. It was the sort of thing that could change the lives of millions. It was revolutionary and no one but the S.H.I.E.L.D techs involved knew how it worked. Clint's aids held a great deal of hope and possibility. "What's your hearing loss without these?" Bruce asked in the neutral professional tone doctors could slide into when focusing, out of necessity, on the condition more than the person.

"Ninety to ninety-five decibels." Clint answered in the same emotionless tone.

"Ninety-five." Banner's eyes went wide. "And with them?"

"Average."

Any hope Bruce had for the implants grew. There was no known device that could do what his aids were doing.

"Funny thing." Tony spoke up before he turned the image around once more so that the other two men could see what had his attention at the moment. It was the Stark Industries logo. Microscopically small, stamped into the back of the device."You are fucking kidding me." Clint spoke up.

Tony shrugged, "We probably just manufactured that particular component." Tony was leaving out the still nagging suspicion that there was more involvement of Stark Industries at play, but some suspicions were better left unannounced.

"You don't know?" Banner asked.

Tony wiggled his fingers, "Lots of fingers in lots of cookie jars doc." He looked back at Clint, "I'll check into it."

Clint nodded and picked the aid back up, making the image shift but not disappear. He grasped it in his hand.

"Care if I take a look?" Banner asked him.

Clint went to hand it over, but Bruce smiled, held up his hand, looking embarrassed, and said, "In your ear?"

Clint pulled his hand away and turned his head "knock your socks off."

Tony handed his penlight over to Banner. "Amazing." was all he said at first. After a minute he looked around Clint's head at Tony, "Why the removable aid with all of this integration?"

Tony shrugged, "I was thinking the same thing but the exterior microphone would be the weakest link along the line. Maybe it was a precaution. If it broke down it would be easy enough to switch it out. Could be related to the kinetics. Could just be a poor design choice. I'll have to get a better idea what's going on before I can say for sure." Banner nodded and went back to looking into Barton's ear. Clint shifted uncomfortably at being the lab rat of the moment.

"Care if I get some imaging?" Tony was still staring at the floating image, Banner was still staring into his ear.

"Do what you gotta do." He stepped away from Banner, "But not right now." He looked between the two men who were now looking utterly dejected. "I'm supposed to be drinking as we speak." He looked between the two, "Caps birthday...the pub crawl you two chose to avoid." He said as a simple explanation.

"Sure. What is he now, a spry hundred?" Stark mocked.

"Counting his push-pop years?" Barton asked.

They shrugged off the topic."Think you could come down here later? Let us see what kind of scans we can do, get some images, possibly see if there is a brain inside that rock?" Tony asked.

"Yeah. Soon as I can." Barton said as he headed back upstairs.

Banner looked at Tony, "Do you think you could recreate it?"

"You thinking of mass production Banner?"

"It crossed my mind. Ninety decibels Tony is a profound loss. If this can..."

Tony raised his hands, "I love the enthusiasm Gumby, I do, but let's focus on one thing at a time." He could get as wrapped up in the possibilities as Banner, and there were times the doc had to pull him back. But this time around he was the one more focused on the person involved. It wasn't that Banner cared any less for Barton than Tony, but Tony related all too well. Some things just served to remind you of your fragility, your mortality. Even in the face of all the wonderful, life-changing or life-saving benefits they offered, the fact that they were needed was a weight in and of itself.

The glowing disc on his chest was what it was, no denying it, and so it had had to become a badge of his strength, a mark of his survival. His ego would allow for nothing else. But it was different for Barton. He didn't have the over-sized, reflexive self-exaltation of Tony and he could live life as usual thanks to the discreet and efficient technology within his ears. He could deny, to even himself, that he had been broken. That he was as fragile as any human being. It was an ego driven self-defense that mirrored Tony's, but lacked the show and dazzle. But truths denied, no matter the reasons, were usually the ones that brought you down, Tony knew. Massive ego or not. So while Banner was dreaming of what could be on a larger scale, Tony was focused on Clint. He would be patient but he would also be there to push Barton. Letting him ultimately guide the direction and timing of their work. It was a fine line to walk and he would, of course, continue to berate the Hawk and come across as arrogant an ass he could. He would play and jibe his way through Barton's avoidance. After all, you had to be choosy about when to show your heart and when to show your ass, and people generally responded far better to Tony's ass.


	2. Chapter 2

_ Thanks for reading! _

_Not beta read. All mistakes are on me._

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers. I do own Lucy, what little whisp of a character she is._

**Bird On The Wire**

By: GalInTheMoon

When Barton made his way to the common room, the room that filled the middle of the residence and served as a living room, entry, and even a dining room from time to time, he saw Thor. "Thought I was meeting you there." He shouted across to him.

The god, who had been staring out the large windows, turned. He was dressed in regular clothes which only served to make him look all the less _regular_. "I have decided to cross the city with you Barton."

"Steve and Natasha already out?" He asked as he moved farther into the room.

Thor nodded, "They are waiting for us there."

"Okay, just let me take care of something and we can go." Clint said before disappearing down one of the halls.

Thor went back to watching the city below while waiting for him to come back out. Steve had mentioned that things had changed since he was last with the group. There seemed to be a faceless, nameless threat to Barton, and it was feeling like the Avengers as a whole. And so he had chosen to stay behind and wait for Clint. Out of friendship and a lingering sense of responsibility for the archer. All had suffered at the hands of his brother, but none in such a way as he. Loki had attempted to destroy him. He had seen the strength Barton possessed, he had seen the potential there, and so he had used him. He had torn him apart from the inside out, and when he was forced to abandon his plans Barton was left to pull himself together again. Mightier beings had fallen at his brother's whim and Thor now understood all too well the evil Loki could dispense. He feared the pain Barton had suffered at his brother's hand and the injuries to him that could linger still. So, he had sworn to guard the archer, to redeem his family from Loki's misdeeds, to make amends to, and for all that was left in his brother's wake. That and Barton was good company.

Clint came back out quickly, grabbing his coat as he headed for the door. "Ready?"

"After you Barton."

Once outside Clint chose to call for a taxi. It wasn't far to walk but his face was all over the news. He would skip as many crowds as he could for as long as he could. And since he had the over-sized god to contend with, his bike would just have to wait for another time. Once in the car Thor spoke up, "Steve tells me you're in danger. Is he correct?"

"When are we not in danger, right." Clint tried to brush off the conversation but Thor watched him seriously, "Who is it that threatens you?"

Barton, seeing that Thor was not going to back off without a sincere answer, said "I've made some enemies working with S.H.I.E.L.D., and on my own I guess. Steve's just being overly...Steve."

"He says there are those who seek to destroy your arm."

"Yeah, well, Guess I pissed off the wrong asshole at some point." He looked down at the arm in question before looking up and out the window.

Thor watched him, "So it would seem."

They rode in silence for several minutes before Clint grew tired of it, and was curious. "He say anything else?" He returned his attention to the larger man. His hearing had been the topic of conversation lately and he wondered if Rogers had talked about it with Thor. He had been so concerned with his discomfort at discussing it with the team. Had he bypassed him altogether to make Thor aware of things? He couldn't help but wonder.

"Only that if I conspire with you to watch women dancing without their clothes on he will go home."

"That hurts." He mocked offense, but was relieved.

"Asgardian women often dance in such a way to celebrate. It is a joyous spectacle." Thor beamed thinking of the last such festivities he had witnessed.

Barton stared at him a moment, "You suck."

Thor frowned, confused as to Clint's meaning, "What do I suck?"

"Never mind." He said as the taxi came to a stop and ended any more conversation. He handed over the fare and slid out of the car, Thor behind him. Clint looked left and right, "They say where they were going first?"

"They did not."

"Great. Let's duck in here and I'll call Nat." He pulled Thor into a nearby restaurant. Once inside, and Barton let go of him, Thor stood a little taller. He did not appreciate being pulled around like a lowly beast. He waited patiently while Barton talked with Natasha and decided where they should meet. A petite young woman walked up to him hesitantly. He smiled at her and she smiled back, walking the two feet between them before speaking, "I'm sorry I was...I uhm...I wanted to thank you for...for what you did, for what you do." She glanced at Clint who was still talking on the phone. Thor glanced his way as well before responding to the young woman with a kind smile, "We only do what must be done. There is no need for thanks."

She sheepishly dropped her head. When she looked up she was staring at Clint who had just gotten off the phone, and walked a little closer to the two. "You saved my life when those things attacked." She said to him.

He looked at Thor before looking back to her, "We all did what we could."

"No it was you. You're the one that pulled me from my car before it, before they..." Seeing she was getting upset Clint leaned in closer to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. "What's your name?"

"Lucy." She leaned in to him a little as well, searching his eyes for what he wasn't sure.

"I'm glad you're alright Lucy." He tried to give her a reassuring look, but it proved an easier attempt than success.

She continued to search for something, her eyes becoming red and rimmed with tears, "I'm so sorry for what they're saying about you in the news..." He removed his hand and suddenly felt the urge to wrap up the conversation sooner than later as she went on "They're dragging you through the mud, talking about personal things. I can't watch it. You're a hero and they're making you sound like a criminal. It's not right. It's..." She turned red. Seeming to sense his discomfort, or feeling hers all the more acutely, she backed away, "I'm sorry. I'm sure you're getting ready to eat. I'm so sorry. I...I just wanted to say thank you."

Clint wanted to say something to her, to assure her and comfort her in a way that was beyond his abilities. She seemed so well intentioned, so unbearably nervous and still so broken. She nodded before backing away and leaving the restaurant, glancing through the front window as she went by.

Thor turned to him with raised eyebrows, "She seemed very upset."

Clint couldn't help but think she wasn't the only one. They were all dealing with this new world in their own way. "Come on. Natasha and Steve are just at the corner." Clint said as he walked past Thor and out the open door. Thor caught up to him. "What did she mean by they're dragging you through the mud?"

"It's just a saying."

"Are these the people Rogers believes are a danger?"

"What exactly is he saying? No, you know what, I don't want to know. It's just a lot of people talking. Let it go." He didn't intend to come across short with Thor and he wasn't upset with Steve. He was just agitated. Every time he came out of the tower, every damn time, someone had something to announce to him. It was usually less than pleasant. He didn't get the adoring fans like Tony or Rogers. Not that he wanted them. After the few Lucy's he had encountered, he almost believed the hate mongers were easier to deal with...or at least handle. He was used to their arsenal: hate, anger, disgust, and derision. There was nothing new they could hit him with. But the Lucy's, the Lucy's were an entirely different being. They reached places within him he didn't even realize were unprotected.

"Was he wrong to warn me?"

Clint turned and looked at Thor, "No. Come on. It's Caps birthday." He slapped the big man's arm and said it as if that should obviously end the conversation. He continued on his way but Thor moved up to his side. "As you wish Barton, but you have my word no one shall harm you whilst I am here."

Barton glanced up, "Thanks...for that." He appreciated Thor, he did. If he said he had your back, he had it. That was that. There was no agenda, no ulterior motives, no bemoaned dutiful obligation. He would be there because he wanted to be there. Honest, straight forward, trustworthy. He was a lot like the Rogers in that. It was a reassurance Clint didn't know he wanted till it was given. However, there was no measuring how happy he would be when he was no longer on absolutely everyone's radar. When he didn't have to witness the rage in a stranger's eyes, or the nightmares. When his friend's didn't have to see such things in his own. When they didn't feel they needed to look out for him in some way or another. When he could go back to the shadows, back to his hidden places, and keep watch. After all, he had gotten himself out of more tough situations than they would ever know. He didn't need a guardian. He was one for crying out loud!

They met up with Steve and Natasha easily enough and spent the rest of the night enjoying each others company. Sharing stories, making new one. They finally called it a night after three a.m. Choosing to walk back to the tower, to grab some fresh air, mostly for Barton and Natasha's sake. Thor and Steve were walking in front. While Clint and Natasha, slightly drunk, were hanging back, simply leaning into each other in favor of actually walking arm in arm. When their peaceful stroll was shattered by a gunshot that echoed through the canyon of buildings. There was a moist *thwap* next to Clint as Natasha fell to her knees, Clint wrapped himself around her, as they all crouched down. "Damn it." She said as she clutched her shoulder. Another shot was fired that sprayed bits of brick onto the group. Clint looked at Thor, "Cover her." He stood and made his way to the source of the shots. Steve stood and followed, glancing at Thor to check that he had the situation covered. Thor nodded, "Go!"

Steve ran after Clint as another shot was fired, whistling past his ear. The archer weaved through the thin traffic ahead of him, making it to the fire-escape of the shooter's building first. He climbed with ease. The shots came to a halt as the two men jumped and climbed up the metal stairs. Clint reached the gun-man's floor first and smashed through the window using an old flowerpot that had been abandoned, left filled with dirt and dead plants, on the fire-escape.

Bits of glass and dirt sprayed into the room through the shattered window as Barton rushed into the dark apartment. It was empty aside from an old couch, a lamp stand, and some random pieces of garbage. Off to the right was an empty kitchen cast in dreamy hues from the business and street-lights streaming through bare windows. Beyond the empty living area was a dark hallway that divided the rest of the apartment from view. It was silent.

Clint looked at Steve, they both gestured that Steve would take the kitchen and what looked like a small dining area past that. Clint would take the hallway and whatever was beyond. As he moved into the darkness he heard movement. A door slowly creaked open and light from the apartment buildings hallway streamed into the empty space. For a split second Clint was cast in the gun-man's shadow. He took off in a run out the door. Leaving the Captain looking in the kitchen unaware.

The man ran for the stairwell, disappearing as he slipped through the entrance. Clint caught up to him, nearly sliding into the closing door as he halted his momentum. He barreled through the doorway only to find he was not alone. It took all of a second to see he had walked into a trap, and all of thirty for the big arm around his neck to squeeze away all consciousness.

Back in the apartment Steve was leaving the living room and heading down the hallway. There were two rooms to the right and what looked like a small bathroom to the left. Barton hadn't turned on any lights and Steve noted the front door was cracked ever so slightly, allowing a thin ribbon of light to spill in from the exterior hall. The hairs on Steve's neck stood. It was too quiet, too still. He could sense the situation had changed too quickly, without him even knowing it was happening.

"Barton?" He nearly whispered while making his way past the dark empty rooms and toward the cracked front door. There was no response, no sounds at all. Cautiously he stepped out into the hall. The bright lights assaulted his eyes as he made his way down the corridor looking for any sign of Clint or the gunman. Still, there was nothing. He made it to the elevator at the end before turning back around. The stairwell door to his left had a small window. He peeked in to see if there was movement. Nothing. All seemed still.

He walked back toward the apartment, his guard on high, calling out for Clint one more time. There was no response, no sound in the small dark space. He checked all the floors before exiting the building on the opposite street and walking around to where they had left Natasha and Thor. Maybe, he thought, Barton was already out checking on Natasha. He couldn't blame the man if his focus was on getting back to her.

It became clear though as he weaved back across the street to where Thor and Natasha were kneeling that Clint was not amongst them. "Barton's not down here?" He asked grasping for an answer. Natasha straightened despite the pain in her shoulder, "What do you mean?"

Thor stood. Steve looked between the two, "I lost track of him."

"You lost fucking track of him!?" Natasha tried standing as well but settled for leaning against the wall. "And the guy shooting?"

"Gone." Steve gestured to the building, "You see anyone come out?"

"No." Natasha answered.

"You searched the entire building?" Thor asked and when Steve answered he had searched as much as he could quickly, he looked to Natasha, "He cannot be far. We should search the streets, catch up to him. Are you able to come with us?"

Pulling on only a quarter of her inner strength Natasha stood, "Let's go."

They walked several blocks, splitting up at times to search side streets and alleys, but they didn't see him. They circled back around to the shooters building and searched inside. Maybe Steve had missed something. If only his phone hadn't died earlier in the night.

Rogers went back up the fire-escape and in through the broken window. While Natasha and Thor walked to the other side of the corner building, to the main entrance. They would start on the first floor and work their way up. For Steve there wasn't much to be seen in the small apartment and turning on the lights wasn't an option. He looked as thoroughly as he could but they would just have to search more in the daylight if it came to it. Finding nothing he moved his search into the outer hall as Thor entered from the stairwell. "Anything?" Steve asked.

"Nothing." Thor answered.

"Same here." Steve looked around, lost as to where to look next.

"Guys." Natasha called from just inside the stairwell door, "I found something." She leaned down and when she stood she was holding a small flint arrowhead. The two men came to her, "Is that Barton's?" Steve asked.

"Yeah," Natasha answered. It was a Native American arrowhead he had found when he was seven, digging into a creek bank in Iowa. He had been skipping school on a warm September afternoon, trying to stay out of anyone and everyone's way. Trying to avoid his bruises being seen or new ones being added. The small black arrowhead had fallen from the mud, and into his searching hands, as if by more than simple chance. It had served as a talisman, a beacon of hope from that day forward."It's his lucky charm." She added simply enough.

Thor looked around the stairwell but remained silent.

Steve walked past him and Natasha, heading back down the stairs. He wasn't ready to believe anything more than Clint was chasing the gunman half-way across town. But what little trail there was had grown cold. They decided there was little else they could do. Thor would take Natasha (though she protested) to the hospital and Steve would continue searching. He would let Tony and Banner know what was happening and hopefully by the time Natasha was released the whole thing would be nothing more than a funny story. Clint would be waiting at the tower, asking them why they were so slow, and if he really had to do all the super-hero work himself.

What they couldn't have known was that, while they were giving up the search for Clint, a young woman was getting a large sum of cash. A pay-off for placing a tracer on him. Lucy had sold her soul, and possibly the life of the man who had saved her own, for just enough money to pay for a surgery that would save her husband's. She had convinced herself it was the right thing to do. She had never really been the same since the attack and her savior wasn't as innocent as she had believed. She could and would save the love of her life, the one good man she knew. Her husband would find her in their tub the next morning, wrists slit, swimming in red. The money, and a note telling him to use it, placed on her pillow. No one would ever connect the lost young woman to the missing Avenger.


	3. Chapter 3

_*The bounty/contract on Hawkeye's arm is from the comics. I believe it's wrapped up pretty quickly there, but I decided to make it an on-going problem for him with the person(s) who issued it nameless and faceless. _

_Rated T for language and violence _

_Thanks for reading!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, Barney, or Cross(fire). _

**Bird On The Wire**

By: GalInTheMoon

When Clint awoke it was dark, very dark. The deep, inky blackness that obliterates even the hand in front of your face. He listened to the distant traffic and boat engines. It was the sound of morning commuters and ferry boats. A sound that should have been accompanied by the smell of coffee and, on a good morning, breakfast. He raised his head from the cold floor, and strained his eyes to see any light, but there was none. He tried to sit up but was stopped, and he realized his hands were bound to the floor. He raised up on his knees but could move no further. He was about to work the restraints, when the sound of metal scraping metal stopped him in his tracks. Footsteps entered, heavy boots, followed by the rustling of plastic and a dragging sound. Once close the sounds stopped, and what Clint guessed was a heavy metal chair was slammed down. The noise reverberated through the space. Without warning a bright light was shone directly into his eyes, blinding him momentarily. He squinted and could make out a pair of legs from the knee down, some heavy boots, and surprisingly enough, a hand with a shiny wedding band. _Guess everyone finds their soul-mate,_ he thought,_ how goddamn touching._

He took a quick glance at his own hands. Handcuffed, padlocked to a loop of rebar in the floor. Shit. Just as he was about to break the silence the light shut off and something solid was slammed against the side of his head. He hit the cement floor and groaned as white blobs danced in his spinning head. He felt like he was going to throw up. _Motherfu..._, he said. Uncertain if he had said it aloud or in his head alone. Sucker punched. He _really_ hated being sucker punched.

"Clinton Francis Barton." A deep voice sounded from the abyss.

He could feel the warm stickiness of blood running down his forehead. "Sherlock fucking Holmes."

The voice chuckled, "You were as easy to bring down as I expected. Never believe the hype."

"Who says I'm down." He pulled his legs in and pushed back up to his knees to prove his point.

"I do." The other man said matter of factly as the chair scraped the floor, moving as he shifted in the seat. William Cross sat silently for a moment. He could see Clint rubbing his head against his restrained hands thanks to night vision goggles. He moved in closer, leaning down to look directly at the back of Clint's head, and said, "Do you love your big brother Barton?" Clint looked up, toward his captor's floating voice. Cross watched the emotions play across his face. Enjoying them all.

"Who the h..." Clint raised up a little farther, eyes searching the darkness. Who was this guy? What did Barney have to do with anything?

Cross leaned back, "Barney. That piece of smoldering feces that pretends to be a human being. You know, your _kin_." The distaste twisted the word into something ugly and Clint looked as if it had literally been spit in his face. "Do. You. Love. Him?"

Clint moved his hands around, trying to fold his palm enough to work his flexible fingers through the cuffs "I don't know who..." he spoke to the darkness but something solid was slammed into his hands and he groaned despite himself. He was really starting to not like this guy.

"Stop fidgeting. It's a simple question. I ask because only one of you will survive what I have planned. And the survivor will be the one who loves the other the least. What do you think your chances are Frannie?"

It was Clint's turn to laugh, though his look was deadly serious, "You're really banking on Barney? You might as well save yourself some time and kill me now. My brother's not the self-sacrificing type."

"But you are I see." There was a pause, "No matter. There are many ways to die Barton. Some are easier than others, some take time."

"Don't suppose this conversation would be one of the slow ways." he sat up, slumped onto his heels.

The chair scraped the floor again as Cross began walking around him. Clint noted an ever so slight drag to his step. He was circling farther away as he spoke, "Do you know what prison is like?" He snickered, "Oh wait, you do. _Hero." _He paused, "Guilt, shame, remorse...grief. Emotions that can be a lot like prison. Wouldn't you agree? Do you think Barney is capable of feeling such things?" Clint didn't respond, he was listening, waiting to knock him off balance if he came close enough. "No matter." Cross seemed to be shaking off a thought before continuing, "What is important is that you believe me when I say. I don't care which of you falls on the sword as long as one of you is left destroyed by your guilt and grief."

When the footsteps continued to circle farther away he relaxed his head onto his hands, "Congratulations buddy. You're a true-blue whack job. What? Did Barney double-cross you? Cheat you out of a deal?"

"You think so small Francis. Your brother couldn't see he was being watched by S.H.I.E.L.D. He lead them right to me and your little group turned my life into hell, tearing me down bit by bit, my wife..." He stopped a moment, catching himself, before continuing, "They threw what was left of me in one of your prisons. You really think I wouldn't want revenge on your brother, on your little group, on you!? Avenger. You have no idea how much I have thought of this moment."

Clint chose to ignore the fact, for now, that Barney was being watched by S.H.I.E.L.D. It was one more thing in an ever growing list of things he had never been made aware of by his old employers. "I'm sure you were just volunteering at nursing homes and rescuing puppies when S.H.I.E.L.D. brought you in." He spoke to the floor.

"I was changing the world." Cross fumed.

"Oh yeah? A real humanitarian were you?" He raised his head. Laying it down only made the floor feel like a waterbed. A cold cement waterbed that rocked his stomach up into his throat.

"I was a decorated CIA agent. I was trusted and respected. I was privy to information you will never know _Hawkeye_. I was the guy that told guys like you what to do and when to do it." He grew silent again, watching Clint, before continuing, "My hobbies were simple enough. Wherever tensions stirred, wherever violence waited on the drop of a pin, I would tip the scales. I provided all that was needed for man to do what he is wired to do. What comes so naturally to us. Destruction is a very human need Barton and I simply assisted the inevitable. It was beautiful." He paused.

"Can't imagine why anyone would have a problem with that."

"You mock me but obviously your precious S.H.I.E.L.D wasn't free of corruption. You ever wonder how many innocent people you harmed doing what your organization deemed as "good"? You ever wonder what terrible events you set in motion blindly following your orders? You ever feel played by those you trusted? You ever doubt yourself Barton?"

He had time and time again but this man would never hear it from his lips. "Not when it comes to bringing down psychopaths like you."

There was a long pause, and that damn chuckle started again, low and disturbing. It was as if he had read his thoughts and found his doubt, and his false bravado, amusing. Clint was unaware that he could read it all on his face. The man walked away, his footsteps fading, before he raised his voice back at Clint, "Let's hope your brother comes through then." There was another pause, "Oh, and I'm making a little money off of you. I hope you understand. The bounty on your arm proved too profitable to pass up."

Before there was any further explanation the blinding light was switched on, aimed once again at his face. He only caught sight of a leg slipping out of sight as two men came into view. Sizing them up quickly, he decided he could have brought them down without too much effort in a fair fight. But there was nothing fair about what was about to happen. He braced himself. He couldn't get his hands free, the cuffs were too tight, but his legs were unrestrained. He kicked out when one man walked within range, sending him to his back. He swung the other leg out in time to knock the second man down, sending him to the floor near him, slamming his heel into the bounty hunters stomach. It gave him a few more seconds to work at the cuffs. He twisted the chain, hoping to snap it with leverage, but they recovered too quickly and came at him again, and again. He fought them off, left them with some bruises of their own, but it was just a matter of time before a hit was made that sent him reeling. They didn't stop until they were satisfied they had earned the bounty money (minus the fifteen grand they had paid Cross in advance of their big payday) and got in a few hits for their own satisfaction. When they finished the sound of a camera snapping echoed through the empty space.

Once they left he was again in the dark, his body seizing from the assault. He slumped to the floor as his thoughts, unwillingly, drifted to Barney. It was Barney's life for his. He knew his brother. He would never come. He would sooner put Clint into a situation like this than get him out of one. And risk sacrificing himself to save him? Forget it. That card had been played out by the time he was fourteen and set aflame at sixteen. He no longer saw Clint as anything other than a foe. A man on the other side of right and wrong and Clint felt the same.

He moved. He had to find a position that was more comfortable or at least one that didn't send every muscle in his body into a tight contracted cord. But there was no easing the painful tension. He moved again and growled audibly. He had to get out of this. He had to pull it together and fight. He thought of Natasha for a split second before he pushed her away. He couldn't think of her. He couldn't remember he had left her on the sidewalk bleeding. Survive first, he told himself. He pulled his legs underneath him but his upper body was too heavy to lift. He remained curled in on himself for a while, his swelling arm cradled into his body.

He had seen more than enough assholes who liked to play with people's lives for ten lifetimes, he was done. Loki hadn't been the first and this guy wouldn't be the last if his life continued as usual. Maybe if he got out of this he would disappear. Let the world think he was gone, dead. Why not? Then one word blazed across his mind, Natasha, and he knew he couldn't. But damnit if it wasn't tempting. He gave in to his darkest thoughts despite himself. Who was he to think he could be some hero anyway? He was Clint Francis fucking Barton. He came from bad stock. His family was a crop filled with blight. The whole shitty field should have been set ablaze. He had known it since he was a kid. Since the first time he saw his dad hit his mom. Since the first night sleeping in the barn loft to avoid the chaos that was his home. Since the first time he found his quiet, composed mom crying in the backyard, asking god why he had put her with one of _those_ Barton's. Raging at the crisp clear sky. And he sure as hell knew the day she told him his dad was going to be the death of her and he had. Yeah he knew. Of course he knew.

So it was no great revelation when he was called Hawkeye for the first time, and understood with such clarity that he wanted nothing more than to be anyone other than a Barton. He had always believed, after all, that he could be better. That if he just kept digging, kept fighting what the world expected of him, he would unearth something in himself worth holding onto. He could be a hero, a good person at least. Maybe he could be the savior he had always needed, the guardian he saw in Barney for a time, but had lost. Hell maybe, if he were honest with himself, he just wanted to save his mom, and how fucking sad was that. Now here he was not because he was Hawkeye, not because he was an Avenger, a hero, one of the good guys. No. He was here, when it came down to it, because he was Clint Barton and would always be a Barton. Maybe, he thought, he should just let this psycho bring him down, let him take Barney too. End it.

The blackness around him threatened to creep into his consciousness giving him a push. He couldn't pass out. He couldn't give in. He cursed himself. He had fought through too much to be brought low by one psychopath with a grudge. This was no time for self-loathing introspection god-damnit. "Get up!" He growled at himself. His halted and labored voice resonated through the dark. He couldn't work at the cuffs anymore, his right hand was too damaged and he was too uncoordinated, but he would find a way to fight. He wasn't going to be the pawn in someone's game and he sure as hell wasn't waiting to be saved by Barney, by anyone. If he was going to go down, he was going down fighting. He would always be fighting, he thought as the dark finally won out, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

Back at the tower Natasha was resting, unwillingly, while Tony was tapping into every street camera footage available. Banner was beside him researching the building and street layout. Looking for any clues as to how Clint and the gunman could have disappeared so quickly. Steve and Thor had gone back out to search the building and check the hospitals and with the police. So far there was nothing and it was nearly noon. Barton had been missing for nearly nine hours.

In Clint's room Natasha was sleeping fitfully, one of his pillows wrapped in her arms. She was dreaming he was standing a few feet in front of her. They were surrounded by a black void. He was still wearing the jeans and grey t-shirt from last night. His back was turned and no matter how hard she tried to move towards him, she wasn't getting any closer. She tried to call to him but her voice was trapped in her throat. He wouldn't turn around, she couldn't make him turn around, and she needed to see his face, his eyes, she had to look into his eyes! She was overwhelmed with desperation.

"Clint!" her voice awoke her with a start and she sat up. She could feel the burn of tears needing to spill. The movement had sent a stab of pain through her shoulder. The gunshot wound had been a deep graze, the edge of her shoulder bone nicked, and it hurt like hell. She scooted to the edge of the bed. Torn between not wanting to discover there was no news, and being eaten up by hopeful curiosity. She moved to the suites bathroom and cleaned her face. She looked around at the organized toiletries, the folded hand towel, the small hearing aid case. Clint's blessed order. The relics left behind. She shook the grim thought away and walked toward the door, feeling for the flint arrowhead in her pocket before heading out into the hall and towards the lab.

She rubbed her hair back, away from her face, and raised her chin, straightening her back as she did. She would not look the distraught lover. Even though every part of her was screaming for answers as she crossed the sky-high residence. She took a deep breath as she came to the bottom of the stairs that led to the lab and walked in. Stark and Banner were deep into work, "Any news?" She asked. Impressed with her own cool exterior despite the internal rip that was spreading through her soul. Both men looked up. Banner nodded no, while Tony rolled his seat out and stood. He stretched and walked over to her, "Care to take over here for a minute?"

She swallowed and pursed her lips, "Sure."

He pointed over her shoulder as she sat down. "This is ten minutes after the first shot was fired. It's flipping between streets at a thirty second interval."

"Okay."

He put a hand on her good shoulder before disappearing around the corner. She watched the screen. She saw herself on the ground one moment, Thor crouched over her, and then it was the cross street. Nothing. Nothing was happening at any of the cameras. Taxis came in and out of view, random vehicles now and then. A few people walked by, but nothing unusual, nothing that stood out. How the hell had they disappeared into thin air?

"I think I have an idea." Banner announced behind her, as in response to her thoughts. She turned to look at him. He gestured her over, "Look at this." She walked over to the table. Banner stood excited with his discovery. "These two buildings share a basement. The wall wasn't added until the seventies." He was nearly smiling, "Anyone check for a hole down there because I think we've been watching the wrong building."

"Shit!" Natasha slid back into the chair and back over to the camera feeds in one motion. "How do I switch views?"

Banner came over and started working on it while Natasha called Steve. Bruce looked at her, "This will take a minute." He was giving her the opportunity to call without being distracted by the monitor. She nodded and stepped away. Steve's phone was ringing. It had been nearly impossible to get him to carry it. But thankfully they had all insisted, and he had finally caved, seeing the sense in it. "Steve Rogers." He answered.

"Check the basement."

"Natasha?"

"Check the basement for a pass through to the building next door. The basements shared."

"Got it. We're heading that way." She heard him say something off the phone, "I'll call you when we've checked."

She hung up and walked back to Bruce, "Anything?"

"I'm getting it now." The images were blazing by until Banner slowed it to normal speed, "Here we go."

"And this is where exactly?" She leaned forward, palms on the desk, the pain in her shoulder forgotten.

"North side of the next door building. It's the only camera that captures an exit." He said apologetically.

She watched without responding. She was too focused on the camera image that was only yards from where they had been looking all along. The camera was set to catch the street view and by chance also captured some of the sidewalk, building, and alley that ran along it. She could see movement in the alley. A man stepped out of a door and ran to the sidewalk. He looked left and right before waving his hand and disappearing back into the alley. When he stepped back out three men followed him. One was being held up between the two. "That's him." She growled, but continued to watch. In the same instant they stepped to the curb a black van pulled up. The first man got into the passenger seat. The two carrying Clint threw him in the back and followed him inside. "Can you get the plate?" She asked Banner.

"Uhm, uh, yeah I think so." Banner began messing with the computer again. Natasha stepped back. She watched Banner working. The image rewound, zoomed in closer, again and again. She watched Clint's limp form. Without thought her hand was covering her mouth. She was going to make someone pay. "Takin' a break already...ow, ow, ow..." Tony had come around the corner, put his hand on her shoulder at the worst possible moment. She grabbed, and twisted his wrist till every bone was on the edge of snapping before realizing it was him. "Tony, Jesus." She dropped his hand, "How about a fucking warning."

Tony rubbed his abused wrist, "Yeah, no problem Red. My mistake. Don't worry about the wrist by the way. What's broken extremities between friends..." He trailed off as he stepped away from her. She watched him without a hint of remorse, as he watched her on his way over to Banner, rubbing his wrist along the way. He glanced at the monitor, "What's this?"

Banner looked over his shoulder, "We found him...on the cameras."

Tony leaned toward the screen, "Really?"

"Just looking for the plate."

"I got it." Tony scooted in front of Banner, who stepped away, and backed to standing beside Natasha. She was biting her lip, an uncommon show of stress. "Good job." He glanced at her.

She looked at him as if he had just snapped her out of a daze, "What?"

"Nicely done, spotting him." She didn't say anything. She could have thanked him for pointing them in the right direction, and normally would have, but it was too damn soon for back patting. She wanted to tell him to save the high-fives for when they had Clint back, but decided on silence.

"There." Tony said as he backed away from the screen. Natasha wrote down the number. "Can you trace it?" She asked Tony.

He gave her an incredulous look, "Jarvis, trace the plate would you."

Jarvis' voice sounded through the room, "Already scanning sir." He grinned at her and was ready to say something else, something playfully congratulatory, but she stopped him with a weighty look. Banner wasn't the only one who changed colors when angry. Natasha Romanoff turned a deep, dark, deadly shade of black and she was still anything but happy. So until Clint was standing in front of her Natasha, the woman, would have to take a back seat to the Black Widow, the hardened assassin. She would have to lean on her conditioning. She couldn't let this moment of hope seep into the cracks and make her soft. She couldn't, she wouldn't, not if it interfered. She could crumble when he was home, when he was safe. She could be the girl who loved the boy then, but not a second before and for only a moment after.


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry if I botched the Russian. I used google...need I say more. (PM me with corrections if they're needed, please, and I will change it!)_

_Thanks again for reading! :-)_

_Rated T for language _

_Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers or Barney Barton._

** Bird On The Wire**

By: GalInTheMoon

The van lead came back a bust. It was a rental, leased with cash on a fake I.D., and returned spotless. Thor and Steve had found a pass through in the basement and a dropped syringe on the other side with traces of a heavy sedative. With nothing else to follow they had gathered back at the tower and were trying to decide their next move when Jarvis announced they should turn on the television. A hostage video of Clint had been released to all the major networks and news organizations. It was breaking news. The screen was filled with the image of Barton slumped in a seat, still dressed in his t-shirt and jeans, but his feet were bare and he appeared unconscious. The team watched for a painfully long moment.

"_Along with this footage..." _the reporter was saying, _"was a letter that has been turned into authorities."_ The anchor began asking questions, _"Do we know..." _but Tony turned the volume down and turned to the group. He didn't want to see any more. It stirred an ever-present anxiety, "We need to know what's on that letter."

"I can make some calls." Steve spoke up and left the room. They all assumed to call in whatever favor he had up his sleeve. The silenced news coverage behind Tony held their attention until Steve came back into the room after a few minutes, "Barney Barton, midnight in Times Square."

"That's it?" Tony asked.

"That's it." Steve seemed a little uneasy. It, apparently, hadn't been an easy favor to call in.

"Barney? Sounds like a creepy uncle." Tony turned up his nose.

"Try creepy brother." Natasha spoke up from where she was half-sitting, half-standing at the back of one of the couches, still watching the news over Tony's shoulder.

"So I guess it's Barton season." Tony looked around the group.

Natasha stood up, "You're not really suggesting we track down Barney? We need to be looking for Clint."

"Where Red? Where do we look?" He looked around the group, "Cause I have no idea."

"I don't know, but it's better than following a dead end if that's what you're thinking." Natasha leaned her hands into the back of the couch when Steve spoke up. "Right now it's all we have."

Tony raised the corner of his mouth, "Exactly Spangles."

Natasha looked at Bruce for a second, hoping to have someone on her side, but his head was down, thinking. She glanced at Thor who was remaining nuetral, arms crossed, watching. She looked back at Steve, "So we stop looking? We sit here and search for _him_ while Clint is out there? What if they want us busy looking elsewhere, distracted."

"We can spend from now until midnight looking but if we don't find Barney, if we don't have him in our pocket...Natasha it's our only shot of having any control in this." Steve watched her reaction. He was right, logically she knew he was right, but she didn't like it. Even if they could find Barney, he would not help them if he could find any way out of it. It felt like a waste of time. A misdirection even.

"Do you have any idea where we could find him?" Bruce asked her, jumping into the conversation for the first time.

She stared at him a moment before she raised her chin and looked around the room, "He makes a point of not being found. He's a subversive, and not the clever kind." She shook her head, "He could be anywhere."

"Alright, so we start looking everywhere. Easy." Tony slapped his hands and moved through the large room, heading for the lab. Steve watched Natasha. "You're not going out are you?"

She didn't answer before turning and grabbing her coat. She had a little experience staying unseen, and she could take care of herself, she was a fucking spy and assassin. If she wanted to go out and search she would damn well go out and search. Captain freaking America could bugger off. The only thing that stopped her leaving was Jarvis' voice. "A package has been found at the entrance, addressed to the Avengers. Should I send it up?" She stopped and looked at Rogers.

"Yes!" It was unanimous, no one had made it out of the room yet. They circled back to where they had been standing before while Tony waited for the package to makes its way up. After a few minutes it was at the door and he was walking to the waiting group, a large manila envelope grasped anxiously between his hands. "Jarvis search the cameras for whoever dropped this."

"On it Sir."

He took a deep breath and looked around at them before beginning to open it. They all held a collective breath as he glanced around the group one second before ripping it the rest of the way open, and at some point remembered to breath again. He peeked in, "Interesting." He pulled out a small ring box and held it up, "Think it's a proposal?"

"I swear Stark." Natasha took the box from his hand and opened it. Her features took on a steely edge as she handed it back to Stark and walked away, over to the wall of windows. He looked down at it, "His hearing aids." He looked back down at them before looking over to Banner, "They're shattered."

Bruce dropped his head and removed his glasses, pinching his nose, "I'm going to look for Barney."

"He won't come willingly." Natasha was looking at Tony from where she had moved by the windows.

"Not even to help his brother?" Thor asked her.

"He doesn't have a brother." She looked around the group. "We need to be ready for a fight getting him here." She added.

Rogers looked at Tony, "If we have to force him to come...We don't have a lot of time."

"I can persuade him." Thor spoke up, "Time will not be a hindrance."

Glances were exchanged and it was silently decided Thor would bring Barney in when they found him, willingly or not. Without another word Banner got to work searching, as did Tony. Thor went with them to watch and wait while Steve stayed with Natasha.

She was still staring out the window. "We'll get him back." he said as he walked up beside her. She looked over her shoulder before looking back out. "I know."

"But we need Barney."

"Do we?" She was quiet.

"We all want the same thing." He stopped before saying anything else and watched her silently.

She dropped her head and turned around to face him. He searched her features. She took a deep breath and looked away. Seeing Clint earlier had staggered her hard fought composure. That combined with learning it was for Barney, Barney of all reasons, had left her temporarily reeling. Maybe she was wrong, they should find Barney but there was one truth that she couldn't get around, "He wouldn't want this. He wouldn't want us bringing Barney into it."

"_We _aren't." He rubbed his hand along her good shoulder, it was a straightforward enough problem for him. Want versus need, which translated as no problem at all. He went down to the lab to join the others without saying anything else. Natasha returned to gazing out the window, left with her thoughts.

As the hours passed with nothing for them to do but wait, all but Stark and Bruce, filtered to their corners. They had stopped looking at anything that would show them breaking news. New footage of Clint was released through the night and his capture was rapidly becoming a spectacle as night drifted toward morning. Natasha had disappeared and it took all of Steve's self-control to leave her alone. To trust her. Thor eventually found him working in the gym. He had come down here to work off some tension, to try and exhaust himself to sleep. "May I join you Rogers?" Thor asked.

Steve looked up from the boxing bag. "It's a free country."

Thor grabbed some gloves, "Care to spar?"

"Only if you don't pull any punches." Steve moved to the small, humble Stark tower boxing ring.

"Nor you." Thor followed.

Steve seemed to have just considered something, "No lightning." He asked, while Thor smiled mischieviously.

They began to circle each other. Steve moving more fluidly from hours of practice. "How's your family doing since...you know the..."

"Much has happened I do not wish to speak of." Thor swung out and nearly connected as Rogers weaved at the last second.

"You have been through much as well, I am told."

"Yeah. Let's not talk about that either." Steve swung and landed a hit to Thor's jaw. The god frowned and raised his gloves. He nodded in understanding as he swung back and landed a left to Steve's nose. They continued to work out their restless energy and nagging thoughts, in silence, until they called it a night.

Around four in the morning Tony called everyone to the lab, having just fallen asleep or not.

"We got him!" Banner announced as soon as Thor and Steve walked in.

"We found Barney." He added as Tony walked up behind him.

"Where?" Thor moved toward them.

"Caracas, Venezuela." Banner and Tony answered simultaneously.

"What's he doing in Venezuela?" Rogers asked.

"Running petty crimes. Trying to stay under the radar." Bruce shrugged. He didn't exactly know the details just the location.

"Under the radar doing crime? Sounds like a great idea." Steve crossed his arms.

"It works." An unfamiliar voice came from the doorway. They all turned to see a man standing there that held a slight resemblance to Clint but he was a little taller, a little shaggier, and he looked a decade older. "Sorry. Barney Barton." He walked farther into the room, his hand extended. When no one reached out to take it he smiled, and nodded before dropping his hand. He gestured out the door, "The redhead let me in. I uh...I, well..." He looked around at the unfriendly faces, "I guess I'm your bait."

"A worm at least." Tony looked at his hand. He didn't know all the details about Barney Barton but he had seen and heard enough to size him up easy enough and he didn't care for the measurements.

Barney laughed. He could read people too and it was obvious no one in the room was a friend. So he did what came naturally, he pushed, "That's good. That's good. You must be the comic relief." He looked around. He pointed at Thor, "You gotta be the brawn." Thor scowled at him as he moved on to Bruce, "The brains." and then turned to Steve, "What? The beauty?" He smiled and made a kiss sound. "Why don't we agree now that we don't like each other."

"And when should we agree to kick your ass?" Natasha spoke up from the doorway.

He turned to her, still smiling, "I'd wait until you have my brother sweetcheeks."

She moved quickly, slapping him across the cheek, "I'd rather do it now. Who said you have to be handed over in one piece."

His smile faded for the first time as he rubbed his cheek. He looked around the men, "She's charming." He said dismissing her completely.

She grabbed his chin and pulled his face back to looking at her, as she leaned in close, "I hate everything about you and if we didn't need you, if it wouldn't hurt Clint too badly, I would tear you apart piece by tiny little shitty piece. We don't need you here." She pushed his face away as she let go and walked away leaving the room.

He watched her go, rubbing his chin. He chose to look at Banner. For one because he was by the door and two he had a small smile on his face. He had liked the show. He would see how quickly he could change his mind about that, "She must be the tail." It worked. Banner's smile was gone instantly.

Steve and Tony both came at him. "Watch it." Steve was in his face, and Tony breathed in his ear, "She is ten times the person you are you slimy little slug."

Barney looked between them, "Boys, boys calm down. I'm proud of little Francis. Looks like he did good."

They backed away slowly and took in the man before them. He really did resemble Clint. If he were stretched and aged...and not bathed. "So why are you here?" Banner, ever the beacon of calm (when not giant and green), spoke up from where he was sitting.

Barney raised his hands, "To save Frannie."

"Out of the goodness of your heart?" Tony scoffed.

Thor had been watching quietly, but at that said, "I see no heart in this creature."

Barney turned around and looked at Thor, "It speaks!" He winked at Thor before turning back to Tony, "Sure. Why not?"

"Well Barnacle, you're clearly an asshole who doesn't even care about himself let alone a brother he hasn't seen in, I'm just guessing here, years."

Barney looked around and shrugged, "Alright, maybe I was persuaded that it was in my best interest to show up."

"Persuaded?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, guy in a suit knocks down my door. Tells me he'd be watching and If I didn't make an appearance tomorrow" He glanced at a non-existent watch, "...tonight. He'd make me wish I were dead, and judging by the company he had with him, he could do it. Next thing I know he's throwing me in a jet and dropping me outside of the city." He bowed, "So here I am."

They exchanged glances. Each one thinking the same thing, Coulson, but it couldn't be. "Glad you're here." Steve finally said. Meaning it if only for the slight chance it gave them of saving Barton.

Barney looked at him, "Well, I know when to save my ass."

"You're a stunning example of familial love Barnaby. Think I'll get some air before I'm overcome with emotion." Tony said as he pushed off the desk he had leaned against, and walked out of the room to find Natasha.

"Barney." He corrected him but Tony ignored him and kept walking.

Tony found Natasha out on one of the balconies. The wind was whipping her hair around her face, and she didn't see him until he was beside her. "What an asshole huh." He said, shaking a bottle of vodka at her that he had snatched off the bar on his way out. She looked at him and took the bottle, taking a long swig, before handing it back.

"That's being too kind."

He agreed and took a sip, "Hard to believe they came from the same womb."

She stared at him, "I can't be around him."

"You gonna break his face Red? I'd pay to see that."

"I'll kill him." She corrected.

He watched her a moment, seeing that she was serious, "So what's the story? Why do you hate him so much. Obviously he's a miserable human being but..." He trailed off to take a drink.

She straightened up and looked out at the paling sky, before turning back to Tony, "He nearly killed Clint when he was a kid, left him bleeding in the dirt. All for money." She paused, stealing the vodka to take a drink and hand it back, "He didn't see him for years after that, didn't hear from him. For all we knew Barney thought he was dead, had wanted him dead. Until he showed up without warning saying he was sorry, that he missed him, that he wanted to reconnect, be a family again."

"But he didn't." Tony surmised.

"It was all bullshit. The bounty on Clint's arm had just been put out there. We didn't even know about it yet..."

Tony finished, "But Barney did."

She looked away, "I was on a mission, and out of communication. I didn't know until I came back and he was..." She trailed off. "Clint had fought him off but damage had already been done in more ways than one. That was three years ago. He hasn't heard a word from him since."

Tony swigged the vodka before handing it to her, "Think I'll kill him after you."

She took the bottle and drank,"Tvoimi by ustami da myod pit'." (I'd drink the honey from your lips)

"Yeah." Tony said though he didn't understand her. He took the bottle back and drank. "Cain in there said something interesting."

She raised her eyebrows questioning, stealing the bottle away.

"Said a guy in a suit threatened him if he didn't help."

"Had to be threatened. That's not a surprise. Who was the suit?"

"He didn't know. It's crazy though, it sounded like Coulson."

She frowned and handed the bottle over, "Wishful thinking Stark." She had seen Phil's body that day on the helicarrier, when she was waiting for Clint to wake up from her little recalibration. She didn't have room for doubt with the memory of Coulson's lifeless form still so fresh.

He looked at the bottle but didn't drink, he had lost his thirst as well, "Probably." Tony had liked Coulson. More than he had let himself realize until he was gone. The moment was edged with grief.

Banner walked up behind them, "I'm making myself scarce."

Tony turned and smirked, "Even with such pleasant company."

"Much more of our company and the other guy is going to be introducing himself."

"They should meet." Natasha leaned down, elbows on the bannister, head down.

"Yeah, well, I'll be back in a few. After I get some air." Banner said before disappearing back into the tower to who knew where. Tony turned back to Natasha, "Guess I should go back in. Don't want to end up with a crispy barnacle if Thor reaches his limit."

"Rogers will keep him in line."

"You think so?"

"I really don't care Tony."

He paused and watched her, "Should we work on some plans that don't include..." he gestured back inside, "...him?"

"Now? What about Thor and...?"

"Guess I don't care either."

She smiled slightly, "Alright then."

Back in the lab Barney was looking between the two stern faces staring at him. He started rocking on his heels, "Nice place." He wiggled his hands around, "Real shiny."

Steve thought about offering him a room but pushed away the thought. It was already morning. If Barney wanted to sleep he could do it on a couch, where they could watch him.

Barney started wandering around the room, picking up whatever loose object he came across. Even picking up the ring box at one point, unaware of what was inside. He walked close to Thor, who was still standing, arms crossed, watching him, and stopped. They looked at each other. "I bet you're handy to have around when the light-bulbs need replaced." Barney scoffed before glancing back at Steve.

Thor lowered his arms, "I have seen nothing about you to compliment."

"Nothin huh." Barney shrugged, "Well I am slow to shine."

"I'm sure you are slow at many things."

"Oh, ouch! That hurt big guy. Really. Got me right here." He pointed to his chest before continuing to circle around the room. "I get a grand tour or what?" He asked Steve when he walked by him.

"I don't think so."

"Fine. I can look around on my own." He said as he made his way for the doorway. Steve stepped in front of him. "We'll go upstairs but stay out of the rest of the residence. You understand?"

Barney raised his hands, "Got it boss."

"You're not trusted here." Steve added.

"No worries. You've all made that very clear."

"Good." With that Steve stepped aside and followed Barney out the door. They made it up to the common room. They could see Tony and Natasha out on the balcony, talking.

"So that really Clint's girl?"

"His partner." Steve sat on a stool and watched him. Thor leaned against a far wall.

"Partner. Sure." He sat on a couch and kicked up his feet, "He always had a way with women. Seemed like every new act that came through had a sweet eye for Frannie. Too old, too young, too married. Didn't matter." He put his clasped hands behind his head, "Some guys have all the luck."

"Maybe they simply saw things in him that others were lacking." Thor spoke up from his spot against the wall. Everything about Barney was hitting him wrong. Barney didn't even look his way, just shrugged. Steve walked over to the couch across from Barney and sat down, "So you know what's happening?"

Barney shrugged, "Yeah, Mr. IWearMySunglassesAtNight showed me the news on the way here." He leaned forward, "You're not really handin' me over though right?"

Steve watched him a moment, wanting to give him a second of doubt, "No."

"Unless we have no choice." Thor spoke up, still in his same spot.

Steve shot him a you're-not-helping look, "You know who would go through all this to get to you?"

"Don't know. I don't exactly make a lot of friends." Steve didn't respond. There was nothing to say. But speaking of not making friends, he motioned toward Natasha, "So what's the story? Why does she dislike you so much?"

"Francis' probably told her a few stories. He likes to bad mouth me, likes to forget all the times I saved his ass."

"Saved him from what?" Steve didn't like Barney. He was abrasive and rude but he was trying to give him a chance. For Clint's sake if nothing else.

"Everything! Everyone. He may be lucky in a lot of ways but he attracts trouble like nobody's business. I don't know how many times I had to pull someone off of him. Guess I just stopped trying."

"You ever try to reconnect?"

Barney laughed, "Francis wants nothing to do with me. Trust me."

"How do you know?"

"Just trust me." Barney looked back out at Tony and Natasha, "Probably not going to get the chance anyway." He knew his brother's luck. It was hit and miss to the extreme. Shit, Forget Clint's luck, he knew Barton luck in general. One of them was not getting out of this and it sure as hell wasn't going to be him. He could lose Sunglasses and these avenging freaks easy enough and baby brother would just have to roll with the punches. He was better at that sort of thing anyway. Barney was better at the bob and weave...if sliding out of the fight altogether wasn't an option.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks for reading!_

_Rated T for language and violence_

_Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, Barney Barton, or William Cross._

**Bird On The Wire**

By: GalInTheMoon

Barney was restless. He hated being forced to stay put anywhere and sitting around here with all of these people who clearly disliked him was more than unbearable. He was waiting for an opening to make a run for it but so far they were keeping a close eye on him. Coming and going for whatever pointless reason they could think of. Most of the day had passed without any new information on Clint. He was still making headlines. New images were being sent out, the wack-job holding him was streaming five minutes of video every thirty-minutes, but no further notes or demands were attached. He was trying to get people stirred up and it was working. The public wanted someone to do something to get Hawkeye back. The whole thing was turning into a circus. Reporters were setting up around Times Square, wanting to be there when the action started. He had to laugh, from what he had been told it was just a few days ago Clint was everyone's favorite dog to kick, and now it seemed they loved him. Whatever story sold, he guessed. People could really be pulled around like a fish on a hook. They wanted to be told what to feel, what to think. It was a fact he had made a living off of working a con now and then. Maybe, he thought, they just didn't like someone else kicking their dog. Whatever the case, it was just the sort of thing for Clint to get himself caught up in. He'd never met anyone who could attract so much love and hate in equal measure as his little brother.

He had seen it time and again growing up. For every ounce of love Clint ever received someone had an equal or greater amount of hate to throw his way. It was the same as always just on a massively larger scale. Barney sighed and stretched. It was late afternoon and the sun felt like a hot spotlight within the large living room. He was reclined out on one of the couches staring out the windows, thinking, when Natasha walked in. She hadn't seen him and he hadn't heard her come in until she walked by him. "Hey sweetcheeks." He said when she walked past him, toward the windows. His voice stopped her in her tracks. She slowly turned around, her hair a flaming halo, "Barney."

He sat up. He hadn't had a chance to really talk to her, her earlier greeting aside. She seemed to avoid him and the others seemed to assist. Maybe it was as much for him as her, but in any case, there was no one between them now, "Why don't you stay a minute. Talk to me." he slapped the couch. He was genuinely interested in knowing about this woman his brother had attached himself to in one way or another.

She crossed her arms and stood her ground, "Twenty seconds."

He quirked his mouth sideways, so much like Clint without even realizing it, "I recognize you. I didn't connect it before but," She leveled her eyes on him, "I saw your picture in Clint's place last time I..."

"You what?" She stepped forward, an eyebrow raised. The last time she knew of Barney being in Clint's place it had been less than a brotherly reunion.

"He had that little place outside D.C." He swallowed, side-stepping slightly. Maybe going _there_ wasn't the wisest decision. Of course she would have known what had happened, what he had done, and it had all been for nothing. The bounty had turned out to be a bust. Someone had thrown it out there with no intention of ever paying up.

"I remember." She said. If looks could kill he'd be six feet under and she'd be pouring concrete over the pit, just for good measure.

He shifted, feeling the weight of her stare, "Yeah. I guess you would." They watched each other a moment, both reading the other. He stretched back out on the couch, arms behind his head, as she broke the silence at last, "I remember you left your shit all over the place too."

"What does that mean?" He was determined to play dumb as long as he could.

"You know Barney." She watched him, the look edged with venom.

"Do I?" He feigned innocence. He wasn't going to confess to anything.

"Sure you do." She moved a little closer, lowering her voice, "And when this is over I want you to leave before you give Clint even a second of heartache. You understand me."

He shrugged and raised his hands, "That's fine, but what if he asks me to hang around."

"He won't." She let the truth sink in, her complete and utter certainty, before walking away. He watched her go before looking back out the large wall of windows toward the lowering sun. He really hated Clint's taste in women.

He stood and made his way downstairs, back to the lab, where he guessed some of the others were still huddled. He could hear voices as he came around the corner. Stark was leaning over Banner. They were talking in hushed tones, an image of a circular device floated before them. There was no one else in the room though. Barney cleared his throat to get their attention. Stark straightened up and looked at him. As did Banner from his spot in the chair. "Barney." Tony said, giving a pointedly insincere smile before turning back around.

Bruce continued to watch him before asking, "Everything okay?"

Tony glanced at him, uncertain as to why Bruce would bother.

Barney moved a little farther into the room. "Dandy." He ran his fingers along the many surfaces.

When Barney didn't say anymore Bruce pointed back to the screen, returning his attention to what they had been working on before the interruption. "So you think the schematics are with S.I.?" Working on Barton's hearing aids was the only productive thing they could focus on at the moment. Tony looked back to the screen as well, "It's just a hunch. I had this contract years ago. It was all secret meetings and nameless entities. They borrowed one of our brightest up and coming engineers for a few months, used some of our manufacturers and that was that. No questions allowed, but the rights would still be with Stark Industries, and if it was S.H.I.E.L.D. that contract is void. All the tech would be mine."

"And you would have access to those schematics?"

"Absolutely. I'll have Pepper dig into it." He stood up straighter and stretched, "Meanwhile, let's see..." Barney drifted out of the room and back up the stairs. He didn't know what they were talking about and he didn't care. He wasn't going to have anything to do with these people much longer. The first metaphorical window they left open he was out.

In another part of the city Clint was laying low. He had been letting them think he was worse off than he was. Letting them grow comfortable and no longer see him as a threat. All the while building up what little reserves he could. It was working, they were getting sloppy, and he would use their ease against them. The last time one of the hired muscle had been in to film and kick him around he used it as an opportunity to roll onto something sharp and broken, and slide it into his waistband. The thug had been none the wiser as he curled in on himself to keep the piece tight against his back.

His hearing aids were obviously missing, but that was the least of his concerns at the moment. He had managed without them before and he had trained to go without. He would deal with their potential loss later. For now he was getting out of here.

The hired muscle he mentally referred to as Number Two came in. He walked past Clint, to a small workbench on the edge of the lamp's light. He kept his back to Clint and worked on something in front of him. Clint watched as he slid the broken fragment from his waistband, holding it in his hand. Slowly he curled his knees up while lowering his arms, his right screaming in protest, keeping his eyes on the large man's back. He managed to pull his feet through the loop of his arms silently, and gingerly raised his cuffed hands up to his waist. He caught his labored breath, focused, aimed, and threw the shard silently into number two's neck. His spinal cord severed, he dropped lifeless to the floor. He moved as quickly as he could to the fallen man. He watched the direction he assumed the door was in while looking for the handcuff keys. Not finding them he pulled the gun from number two's waist, checked the chamber, with effort, and moved toward the door. He had two bullets, and had only counted two hired goons and one man in charge. With one muscle already down, two bullets would be more than enough. With any luck he wouldn't even need them.

He made his way to where he had seen them enter from, pushed aside black plastic, only to find metal walls and a metal door hanging slightly open on the other side. Late afternoon sun was streaming through the doorway and in cracks along the roof-line. He kept the gun raised and pushed the door further open with his foot. His eyes were temporarily assaulted with the sunlight that was streaming through opaque glass walls. He squinted and saw he was in a greenhouse with rows of plants in front of him and more hanging above. He looked over his shoulder at the large metal shed attached to the greenhouse he had just come out of. Movement to his right caught his attention and he ducked, peeking through the leaves to see a shadow move along the outside of the structure. He followed, crouched, along the row. Keeping his eyes moving, taking in his surroundings, he stopped when the shadow stopped, and watched. The figure was standing guard by the door. He waited longer than would have been necessary as crouching made his chest seize, and he felt the pull of a cough that would no doubt lead to another. He tried to breathe through it but his chest was too constricted and he couldn't catch a full breath. He waited, hunkered down, watching all around until it passed and he could move again. He hoped his breathing wasn't as loud and wheezing as it felt.

He was grateful for his bare feet that allowed him to move quietly toward the door. He watched the shadow figure, and weighed his options before tucking the gun into his waist and grabbing a small spade. He ducked down next to the door and tapped on the outer wall. The figure outside turned. He could see his silhouetted lips moving, he tapped the glass again, the man outside said something else. Finally his hands raised up in frustration and he stepped inside. It was Number One. Clint didn't spare a second to slide up behind him and use the spade lethally. Number One fell as quickly as Two had. Clint watched the swinging door. There was no movement outside. He looked around the greenhouse, checking the glass walls for more shadows, and waited a minute. He dropped the spade and searched for the handcuff keys again but came up empty handed. _Damn, _he thought as he clenched his jaw, and took as deep a breath he could. He watched his surroundings again and when still no one came he made his way for the gaping outer door. The gun back in his hand.

The sun was in his face as he stepped out onto a rooftop. He hadn't realized just how stifling the air in the greenhouse had been until he was hit with a gust of wind. If only his lungs could take some of it in. Gravel bit into his feet as he looked around. The top of the Avengers tower was glowing in the distance, shining in the late afternoon sun. A loose gravel rolled in front of his feet and he was snapped out of his reverie. He turned around in time to see Cross coming at him and fired. Cross fell back hitting the ground as the bullet found its mark. Clint watched him a moment before dropping to his knees. He began looking around again, watching for any more surprises. Movement in his peripheral brought him back to Cross who was standing up. He raised the gun again. Cross was laughing as he opened his shirt, "Kevlar." It was nothing like any Kevlar Clint had seen. It looked thin and tight as spandex.

Without a seconds more hesitation Clint shot for his head but the gun jammed. It was the only opening Cross needed. He ran for Clint and tackled him back, into the gravel. He grabbed his bad arm and squeezed, as he drove it down to the ground again, and again, along with the arm holding the gun cuffed to it. He drove his knee into Clint's side. Whatever precious breath he could take was gone. Gasping, he dropped the gun without realizing it. Cross grabbed it and backed off, watching him.

Clint rolled over slowly, smoothly grabbing a handful of gravel as he did, and pushed himself to standing. He swayed, still gasping like a fish out of water. He stared at Cross a second before taking off in a sprint in his direction. Throwing the gravels at Cross' face, he slid past him, as Cross grabbed at his own face, and his eyes. He slouched to the ground screaming at Clint, but he didn't hear him. He was at the door, his back to Cross. He twisted the knob and had just started to step through the doorway when a force slammed into his back. Cross had recovered enough to run into him, pushing him into the stair rail. The two teetered on toppling over but Clint pushed them back to the landing. He turned around, ready to take Cross down. Cross was bleeding where the gravel had sprayed his face. Some of the stones, roofing tar making the edges all the more lacerating, were jammed into his right eye. He pushed his fingers into Cross' damaged eye, grinding the roofing tar and pebbles deep into his captor's eyeball. Growling Cross pulled them both back towards the stairs, sending them both toppling down the metal steps.

Back at the tower Barney had slipped out of the residence. They had given him his window and he had used it. He was making his way down to the underground garage. The others, no doubt, on his tail but he had a head start and he wasn't slowing down. He flew out of the stairwell and into Stark's personal garage, catching sight of his ride of choice instantly. He snagged the keys from the box by the door and made his way to a custom painted Lamborghini.

Natasha shot out of stairway door just as he was pulling away. He waved as he went by but had to hit the gas as the garage door, controls taken over by Jarvis, were closing. He barely made it through the shrinking gap and had to swerve away from traffic, causing a small pile-up, as he burst out onto the street. Hooting as he did and yelling back, "Sorry Sweetcheeks!"

Natasha grabbed some keys and ran for a car with Steve right behind her. "Open the door Jarvis!" She yelled and he complied without comment. The door slowly rising again. The traffic was still jammed in Barney's wake and it was obvious they would move quicker on foot, "Damnit!" Natasha yelled and ran for the rising door, crouching and sliding out into the street.

Steve was beside her as they ran down the sidewalk in the direction Barney had gone. Up ahead, Barney had made it several blocks already, weaving through traffic with ease until a loud thud sounded on the roof of the car. Ironman peeked down into the drivers window and gestured toward the sidewalk, "Pull over."

Barney accelerated, ignoring him.

"Do not make me destroy my car Barnuts." They continued moving through traffic. "I so don't like you." Tony said as he slammed his fist through the roof and reached for Barney who slid lower in the seat, continuing to accelerate. Tony debated sending a pulse into the dash but still trying to salvage the car he pushed his arm deeper in toward Barney. Thor landed on the hood, "Move!" he directed Tony who lifted himself up while Thor sent sparks throughout the car, sending the electronics into a frenzy. Losing power, the car came to a slow stop. Barney opened the door and was about to run when Thor jumped off the hood and grabbed him, pushing him against the car. "That was a mistake." He said as he pushed him harder against the car. Tony landed beside him, "Yeah. That was one of my favorite cars ass-wipe." Thor glanced his way, "What? The paint job was a gift from Pepper. It's sentimental." Thor rolled his eyes as he pulled Barney by his shirt from the car and back towards the tower. Tony waited by the car, "You go ahead. I'll just take care of this." He rubbed his hand along the roof, "It'll be okay baby." A woman's scream coming from down the street stopped him and he turned. Steve and Natasha were just catching up to the chase and running up to Thor.

"You hear that?" Steve asked.

They regrouped and made their way towards what was becoming a commotion down the street, pushing Barney with them. As they approached a crowd was forming, blocking whatever was happening from view. Tony walked through the group, making them part for them as he went. "Shit." He said as he looked on Cross, who was holding Clint in front of him, a gun pointed to his head. Clint's eyes latched onto Tony. "Stark." Cross spoke up, looking at the rest of the group as well, but his eyes stopped on Barney, "Barton." He smiled as he pushed at Clint's face, "Look who's here." Reluctantly Clint turned from Tony as the rest of his friends came into view through the crowd. Barney being held in front of Thor, at the front of the group, held his attention.

"Cross?" Barney looked confused, "What the fuck, man?" He glanced at the man he had only worked with briefly before he leveled his gaze on his younger brother.

"Always so clever aren't you Barton." Cross said but Barney wasn't listening. He was still watching Clint. He knew the look his brother was giving him. He was making plans, he was going to make a move, and he needed Barney on board. There was a desperate edge to it though Barney hadn't seen before. It was clear to him Clint had doubts, big screaming, kiss your ass goodbye doubts. Despite every fiber in his body wanting to run Barney wouldn't walk away from that look, that plea, in Clint's eyes. Damnit he just couldn't help, helping Clint when someone else was out to hurt him. The whole, he would take him down for his own gains in a heartbeat, fact aside. Barney didn't respond but glanced over his shoulder toward Natasha, he needed her onboard. He had always trusted those who threatened him the most. It was an odd quirk of character that would pay off for once in his life. She looked at him, reading his features, she moved forward. Clint caught sight of her, and for maybe the first time in his life, Barney couldn't read the look he saw on his little brother's face.

"Do you want him or not?" Natasha pushed against Barney's back. He played at panic and surprise, "Hey, hey. Back off." He was yelling at her, fighting her off a little more than necessary. But she kept up the act and hit him back with equal force. Steve spoke up quietly behind her, "Romanoff?" She looked at him but kept walking.

Natasha glanced at Clint before leveling her gaze on Cross, "Now or never." She was talking to her partner but Cross had no idea. Nor did the rest of the team but they were trusting the Black Widow's lead, for the moment.

Cross smiled, "This changes everything doesn't it. Well, not..." Before he could finish, Clint pushed the gun up and slammed his foot into Cross' knee. It buckled and they both hit the pavement as Natasha surged towards them. Steve was right behind her. Clint landed on his good arm, Cross nearly on top of him, he rolled away and was ready for a fight but Natasha was already on Cross. He didn't stand a chance against her and the advancing Rogers. Clint slumped back into the pavement. Tony, Thor, and Barney's faces hovered over him. He wanted to tell them he had seen Cross put what looked like a remote detonator in his pocket, wanted to tell them he couldn't breathe, wanted to tell them it was about fucking time, and oh yeah, good to see ya. But he didn't get the chance to say any of that before the black seeping into his peripheral couldn't be held at bay any longer.

"Frannie. Clint man come on!" Barney slapped his cheek lightly. He didn't respond and his breathing was rapid and shallow. Barney grabbed the cuffs, looking over his shoulder toward Natasha and Steve who had Cross pinned. "Check for fucking handcuff keys!" He turned back to his little brother and looked around the group. Tony was the closest and looked ready to push him away but was holding back for a reason beyond Barney's understanding.

"Heads up." Steve called from behind him as he tossed a set of keys his direction. Barney turned and caught them with ease, good hand-eye coordination was a Barton trait. Carefully he undid the cuffs, "Hold his arm." He said to Tony who was beside Clint's damaged right arm. He did so without hesitation. Holding it above the ground, level. Tony looked around as Barney slid the cuff away from Clint's swollen and lacerated wrist, "Anyone call 911?" He didn't wait for a response before tapping his helmet back on, "Jarvis, you call this in?"

"Of course sir. An ambulance should arrive momentarily." Tony took a breath at Jarvis' calming voice and removed his helmet once more. Barney was taking the lead, looking over his brother with what seemed a practiced hand as sirens could be heard faintly in the distance.

Natasha was standing over him, watching. He could feel her wanting to pull him away as well, but instead, she walked around and knelt down by Clint's head. Steve had Cross under control and had moved closer to the group. Cross was smiling, looking down on the scene in front of him. Barney cared, he actually was trying to save his brother, it made the present on its way to Venezuela all the more satisfying. And the little bomb he had planted under Times Square, the one that was set to go off at midnight unless he hit the kill switch in his pocket, was looking all the more appealing. It would be such a surprise. Everyone would think it was over. Hawkeye was saved, the Avengers had won, the bad guy was safely put away. Yes, they would be so perfectly unprepared when he actually struck, and all of Times Square was evaporated. Cross smiled as the ambulance lights danced across his face and the sun dropped behind the canyon of buildings.


	6. Chapter 6

_Once again the break markers didn't show up when I uploaded. So just be ready to skip a little without warning (no doubt you're used to it by now ;-)_

_Rated T for language_

_Disclaimer: Wait for it, wait for it...I don't own the Avengers, Barney Barton, Phil Coulson, or William Cross. Wuuut!?_

**Bird On The Wire **

By: GirlInTheMoon

Bruce had stayed behind at the tower as the others went after Barney. They didn't need the other guy out there taking down whoever got in the way. The public was on the fence about them enough already. So he waited for an update on the chase, continuing to work on Barton's hearing aids as he did. He was making a little progress on the devices, but they had been shattered into so many tiny pieces that littered the bottom of the ring box. That unless Tony was right and the schematics were with Stark Industries, it would be a long process rebuilding them.

"Banner." Tony's voice came through Jarvis' com system.

"You get him?" Banner asked without looking up from his work.

"We got him." There was a heavy pause, "We got Feathers too."

Bruce stood, removed his glasses and looked up, "You wha...how did that happen?"

"Right place at the right time. Some kind of brotherly, freaky serendipity. They're taking him to Mount Sinai."

"Alright. I'll be there soon." He started to walk to the door, "How is he?" He paused before stepping out and losing Tony.

"Shitty." Came Stark's solemn response.

Without another word Bruce rushed out and across town.

Natasha hadn't come directly to the hospital. She had stayed to see that Cross was handed over to the NYPD, even though Steve had told her to go, he would wait as would Thor, but she couldn't. Maybe she was delaying seeing Clint in the hospital, or the looks on people's faces waiting in the emergency room. Then there was Barney. She was in no hurry to see him. Her thoughts confused after watching him take over with Clint. He had seemed so concerned, so the brother he had forfeited ever being time and again.

She was at the hospital now though, all possible, reasonable delays used up. Tony was leaving, still in full Ironman get-up, as she approached. He saw her and moved in her direction, "Bruce just showed up so I'm going home to slip into something more comfortable, less metallic." He gestured back toward the hospital, "There's no word yet." He tapped her shoulder as he walked past her.

She walked through the automatic E.R. doors and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Bruce. Having Banner there was comforting. He was a peaceful presence, his constant personal vigilance, rolled off of him and calmed by osmosis. "Bruce." She said as she reached him. "Tony said there's no word."

"It doesn't mean anything." He looked down at her. She nodded, looking around the waiting room, noting Barney was slouched in a chair in the corner, he looked half-asleep, "These places all look the same."

"Waiting rooms?" He asked.

"Waiting rooms, hospitals."

"I guess you've seen a few."

She looked at him, "A few." It was his turn to nod and look away before she continued, "He'll be fine. He always is." It was her way of kindly letting him know she didn't need reassurances, not just yet.

She looked around the room again. There were a handful of people huddled in groups or in on themselves. In her opinion it was as close to purgatory as the living could come. This waiting to see what direction your life was about to take. Heaven or hell waited on the tipping of chance. She shook off the emotion. She couldn't go there. Clint would be fine. He always was.

Her thoughts were interrupted, "Clint Barton?" A woman dressed in scrubs had walked up to them, unnoticed by Natasha.

"Yes." Banner answered as Natasha moved closer, and Barney stood.

"We're moving him upstairs, to the ICU. If you would like to go up we'll have information soon."

Banner thanked her and they moved upstairs to the, no more comforting, ICU waiting area. This time they had large windows that faced the water. Banner found a seat, as did Barney, but Natasha walked over to the windows. She couldn't help but think this is where Clint would stand if he were out here. He would watch the city below, taking in so much more than most. Maybe that was why he didn't like big cities, information overload. She stepped away from the window. The view was meant to be a distraction and it had failed.

Banner was flipping through a magazine. She sat down beside him, Barney separated himself a few seats over. It was the way the next few hours would go. Tony returned dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Thor and Steve arrived a little after with news that the kidnapper had been taken to another hospital, and was released back into custody. He wasn't talking and it had taken a lot of self-control for either one of them to not remove the ever-present smile from his face.

They were getting word on Clint every thirty minutes or so. He was still being worked on, his right lung had collapsed, his left was in danger, he had multiple broken ribs, a concussion, and multiple superficial injuries. It was something of a miracle he had had enough will power to get as far as he had, they told them. All Natasha could think was they had no idea the amount of will Clint probably still had in reserves. She had seen him pull on an inner strength, to pull himself up, when it seemed there was nothing left time and again. They went on to say that, at the moment, his arm wasn't even a topic of discussion. When he was stable, they would operate. It would no doubt be the first of many. Each and every time they came out with an update they ended it with the same words, no visitors allowed.

Natasha stayed anyway, as did Steve and Barney, but the others went back to the tower. There was nothing to be done but waiting and they saw no reason in doing it in the hospital. The three who stayed sat in silence, Natasha turning Clint's lucky arrowhead around in her palm, while Steve watched people walking by. Barney remained, withdrawn and silent for once, keeping to himself. "Have you ever been in love Rogers?" She asked Steve, who was sitting beside her, seemingly out of the blue.

"I like to think so." He watched her twirling Barton's lucky charm, remembering a certain brunette, "You?" He asked even though he knew the answer.

She looked up at him, before looking back down. A sad smile stained her lips, "I have given him so many reasons to give up on me. So many times he could have thrown me aside and I wouldn't have blamed him, but he just calls my bullshit and stays. Maybe that's love. Staying when it would be so much easier to walk away." She looked up at him, and shot a glance toward Barney, "Maybe I don't know what love is."

"Sure you do."

She looked away, toward the window. The city lights turning the landscape into constellations. "Maybe I wish I didn't."

"But that's not something we get to decide is it." He followed the direction of her gaze.

"You don't think so? You don't think love can be switched off?" She had seen the instant obliteration of what appeared to be love by choice, or by need. She was even trained to turn her emotions on and off. To use the things others held sacred as weapons and tools, as means to an end. Love was no different. It wasn't above manipulation, dismissal. She couldn't believe otherwise, but still doubt nagged at her that there was something there. Something untangible, untouchable.

As for Steve, love could never be so easily cast aside. Not when his heart was still faithful to a woman lost to time. When he would have given most anything to not still long for a ghost. To him love was absolute, undeniable, like a fence wire grown into a tree. It remained even if the rest of the fence turned to rust and fell away, and no one but the tree remembered it had been there. Love remained. "Switched off or flicked away like a crumb on your sleeve? Nah."

She watched the emotions play across his face, "You're a romantic Rogers."

He raised his eyebrows, "And you're fooling yourself Romanoff."

"Am I?"

He grabbed the arrowhead that she was still twirling from her hand and held it up, "You would have turned it off already if you could." He gave his statement a moment to be acknowledged before putting it back in her hand. She looked down at the small black shiny talisman, rubbed smooth after so many years. She considered putting it in her pocket, making some false statement to save her ego, but there was no point. She held the arrowhead tighter and draped her legs over the arm rest, her back against Steve's arm. She did love Clint. She could hate herself for it, she could deny it, but it didn't change a damn thing. She would always love him in ways she couldn't understand or reach within herself. In ways and places locked away by her conditioning, but there all the same.

She fell asleep like that, against Steve's arm. He didn't move. He watched the traffic lights in the distance and the blinking of radio towers and airplanes. The world was ever moving. It couldn't be stopped, or even slowed for the troubles of a few. He knew it all too well. But he could give Natasha this moment of peace. He could hold the world at bay for a blessed moment, maybe for both of them. He sat quietly. Letting her sleep and recover. It had been a long couple days and there were more to come. It wasn't long before he fell asleep too.

They missed the figure who walked by them and paused for the briefest of seconds.

Phil Coulson had been watching what was happening. He couldn't have stepped in and helped any more than he had, but he could sneak in to see Clint now. He would have to make it quick. He couldn't be here when he woke up, he couldn't be seen by anyone. Not to mention, he had a lot going on. He had already ordered some of his team to take custody of Cross from the New York police and they were on their way to the jet with him now. They had found a kill-switch in his belongings and he had had to send out some more of his people to search around Times Square for an explosive. If what he assumed was correct, whatever Cross had rigged would go off at midnight, right when the Avengers should have been coming to the rescue. Bad guys were so predictable. He would have to go down to Times Square after this, help with the search, and then back to the jet to have a little word with Cross. Hopefully, the city would never know just how close they had come, or the Avengers, to disaster.

He hesitated as he walked by the sleeping Natasha and Rogers. He looked over at Barney, all solemn and slumped into a chair, sleeping as well. He was pleased to see he had stayed. Part of him wanted to wake Natasha, wanted to wake Steve, and say surprise I'm here, I'm alive. I've had your backs this whole time. But that could never be, not yet anyway. He continued on, back toward a nurse waiting for him at one of the doors. They weren't allowing visitors but Phil had always had a way of talking himself into most anywhere.

"Thank you." He said as he slid past her.

"Mhm, just do as I say and don't make me regret this."

"Scout's honor." He made an attempt at the salute but dropped it. He was never a scout. She didn't care either way by the look she was giving him. "I will..." he added, "listen to what you say, not make you regret this, that is."

She moved forward, guiding him back to Clint's room, Phil followed. She came to his opened door and stopped, looking at Phil. "He's still critical. If a machine goes off, if we come in, you will have to leave. Don't make us waste time pushing you out. And don't try to wake him, he's sedated for a reason." She lowered her chin, raised her eyebrows and stared at Phil. He nodded in understanding and she stepped aside, allowing him entrance.

Clint hadn't been cleaned up or tidied for visitors. He was one of the patients in limbo, no longer in the red but far from the safety of green. Out of necessity, equipment was still around him, he was exposed, and all of the dried blood and dirt on him had yet to be wiped away. He looked like shit and it took a lot of Phil's battle hardened reserves to not be hit with the emotions that berated him. It wasn't that he hadn't seen him looking this bad, he had and worse, but he couldn't stick around. He couldn't be there when Clint woke up. He couldn't be there for him. Not anymore. No more than this and this was far from enough.

The nurse came back in and draped a blanket over the majority of his body. She pulled Phil's attention to her by sheer presence, "Five minutes." She reminded him. He nodded and walked closer to the bed. She left the room silently, pulling the curtain between the bed and door closed as she did.

He reached beneath the blanket and took Clint's left hand. His wrist was wrapped in gauze, and I.V.'s were inserted and taped to the top-side of his hand as well as up his arm. "Hang in there kid." He had always thought of Clint like a little brother. There was at least ten years difference between them but they both acknowledged that they were the brothers they never had. Phil's dad was M.I.A. in Vietnam before anymore Coulson's could be added to the clan. And Clint, well Barney wasn't exactly the Hallmark greeting card kind of brother. Hell, he wasn't even the, I won't literally stab you in the heart, kind of brother.

He gently rubbed at the grime and dried blood on Clint's still hand. He let it go to walk over to the small sink and get a paper towel wet. When he walked back to the bed he washed it all off as best he could. He was careful around the I.V.'s and wires, before grabbing another towel and moving up to his forehead and cheek still layered in rust as well. He hadn't seen him for so long. He glanced at his right arm which was wrapped and pressure cuffed out of sight, even his fingers hidden. He had had that arm damaged more times than Phil wanted to think about. One of these days it was going to stick. He hoped this wasn't it. Another wave of remorse that he couldn't be here when he awoke rushed over him.

Silently, a nurse came in behind him. "Excuse me." She said as she moved in close to check Clint's vitals.

She stopped, seeing his concern, and gave him a moment of her full attention, "He's fighting."

He knew that. Clint was always fighting one thing or another but he nodded and returned his gaze to his silent friend.

"Would you like a chair?" She asked. He looked around noting, for the first time, that there was none around. In fact the room was clear of any extra furniture. She must not have known the five-minute rule the other nurse had set down. He had to be pushing towards ten already, "No. Thank you. I can't stay long." He finally said with a no small amount of regret. She nodded and left the room.

He looked back down at Clint. He couldn't shake feeling a twinge of responsibility for what had happened. He had been the one to order the tail on Barney. After he had jumped Clint in his own home, and all for some red herring of a bounty, he had seen it as necessary. He had chosen to not let Clint know. He was dealing with more than enough at that time already. He was also the one who had cleared the team to change their focus to Cross. The guy was a certifiable mad man hiding out in the C.I.A., how could he have said no. Cross had caused more destruction and human suffering than could be ignored and he was in a position to do more. But here they were and, as far as he could see it, he was the one piece that had connected them all together. He knew he couldn't take the blame but he had to accept the connection. He couldn't deny the facts. He glanced at his watch. He had to go. He had stayed too long already. "Stay strong Hawkeye." He finally said, squeezing his arm again gently, before walking away. He slid on his sunglasses, he couldn't look back as he walked out of the room, out of the hospital, and back to his team. But he had left a little something pinned to the blanket that Clint would recognize.

He was too caught up in emotion as he left to notice the slouched figure that was watching him go.

Barney was walking back from a vending machine when he saw him, Sunglasses. He had awoken hungry, his stomach growling loudly, and was now carrying a bag of chips as he slid into the nearest seat and watched him go. He was half afraid he had come back for him, but that fear was put aside. He could read his body language, he had come to see Clint, and was obviously upset by what he had seen. In that, I'm a bad-ass agent of a secret organization, kind of way. When he disappeared around the corner Barney straightened up and went back to eating his chips. Natasha and Steve were still out. He watched them, leaning into each other, one supporting the other. They made a cute couple, _little bro better watch out_, he thought. He looked away, _why should I care_, he berated himself. _Go ahead and break his heart Sweetcheeks_. They didn't care at this point if he stayed or went and he didn't know for the life of him why he was sticking around. Clint wouldn't want to see him. They didn't want him here. So what the hell was he doing? He crunched into more chips loudly, a woman across from him looked annoyed, but he smiled coldly and threw another in his mouth. Chewing as obnoxiously as he could. She looked away as he stood and walked closer to the sleeping pair, and over to the windows. He should go, he thought. Leave before anyone woke up, disappear into the night. It wasn't like there would be any tears shed by his absence. He wanted to see Fra...Clint. He would have to remember to call him Clint if he stayed. He had always hated Francis. It was a family name and it had never suited him. That was why he had always used it though, a little dig here, A little jab there. What could he say? It was how he showed his love, or what he understood of it.

He wadded the empty chip bag in his hand. He wanted to see Clint, he wanted to tell him bye, even if the feeling wouldn't be shared. After all, he didn't have any intention of ever seeing him again. End it now, when he had actually come through for him. After all, they would never be the kind of brother's that barbecued on the weekends, or would be the other's best man at their wedding. It just wasn't in the cards for them so why pretend otherwise. He turned around. Natasha was stilling leaning against Rogers, but was staring at him.

He turned back to the window as he heard her shifting position. "You're still here." She walked up beside him.

"Yep." He popped his lips.

"Any change?" She referred to Clint.

"No, but Sunglasses came by to see him."

"Who?" She watched him.

"The suit that invited me to this little party."

She remembered Tony mentioning him earlier, and that he thought it sounded like Coulson. She wouldn't believe it for a minute but she was curious. She looked back out the window, "What did he look like?"

"Serious, angry, buttoned-up, middle-aged..."

"Specifics Barney."

"Receding hair line, square jaw. I don't know, your average suit."

It wasn't enough to convince her of anything, would never be, so she let it go. She would have to look into who it was eventually, but at the moment a guy in a suit pulling some strings in their favor was the least of her concerns. She wrapped her arms around herself. She never imagined she would ever be standing by Barney and not choking him. "I thought you would have ran off already."

"Yeah, that makes two of us."

"So why are you still here?"

"Just to piss you off Sweetcheeks." He smiled at her. She didn't return the look.

"You waiting for a thank you? A pat on the back?" It wasn't said with anger. It was a tired, bitter, resigned sort of non-question.

He took a breath, "Listen. I may be a shitty...person in general, but he's still the only family I got. I'm gonna tell him bye if that's alright with you."

"And then you're going to walk away?"

"Into the sunset, never to be seen again. Good enough? Shit." He took another deep breath, looking down and to the left, away from her.

"It's a start." She stared out the window, her emotions were in neutral.

"Yeah." He clenched his jaw. She seemed like she really hated him and the feeling was becoming mutual.

They stood in silence for a while. Both thinking in similar directions, before Natasha asked, "Can I ask you something Barney?"

"Shoot." He looked out the window, a man resigned.

"How could you do the things...watching you earlier, you..."

"How could I love him and do the things I've done?" He was better at grasping situations than she gave him credit for. He shrugged, "Life is funny. Makes you do things you never thought you would." He sat down, "I don't know what to tell you. We went different directions, drifted apart. All that cliché bullshit. That and I'm an asshole, always have been. I don't deny it, I know who I am, what I am." He wanted to add, unlike some people, but she didn't seem in the mood to take any personal jabs at Clint lightly. So he let it go.

"Different directions? Barney you nearly killed him." She followed him but didn't sit, looking down on him intentionally.

"What? When we were kids? I told him to back off. I told him to let it be." He raised his hands, "He wouldn't listen, always had to be the hero, do the "right thing". He shoulda walked away." He leaned forward, "Someone was going to bring him down and if it wasn't me, if it wasn't by my hand, he wouldn't be here to hate me for it. I chose the best of two fucking awful choices."

It was small consolation, she thought, "And three years ago? Was that for his benefit?"

He shrugged, "I needed the money."

"Really? That's your answer?"

"What? I did and if anyone was taking out his arm it was gonna be me."

"Touching. So you did it out of need and what, some ass-backward sense of responsibility, not just greed?"

"I figured I could come in, go easy on him, make it look worse than it was. Then he'd lose the bounty hanging over his head and I'd get a cool one point five mill." It seemed simple enough to him.

"You never considered warning him? Just giving him a heads up, maybe a helpful tip? You decided the best solution was to play him, to trick him into giving you another chance, and jump him when his back was turned? How is that your idea of a good choice?"

"I never said it was a good choice, but he recovered right, his arm was fine? I could have done worse." He seemed so smug, so sure of himself, and he was. Natasha stepped back, "Wow, you can justify anything can't you? I saw his place Barney, it was trashed, he fought you off. Are you seriously saying you held back? That you didn't just go after him for the paycheck?"

"You don't have to believe me but the fact is I could have done worse."

"That means nothing Barney. Such a small consolation. He..." She dropped it and turned away from him. She wouldn't tell him that Clint had wanted to trust him, had wanted to believe he was there to reconnect, had allowed himself to hope. That he had needed that connection more than he would have believed until he saw his big brother again after so many lost years. It was how Barney had slipped past his guards. It was what had made it all the more devastating, above and beyond the assault. She wouldn't tell him how it had brought up old ghosts, and tore his spirit down in no small measure for far too long. He had no right to those truths.

"He could take everything I gave him and more." It seemed like a fair enough point to him.

"Shut up now if you have any sense of self-preservation." Her back still turned she walked over to the window and leaned against it, before turning to face him once more, "I just wondered if love could really sit beside so much indifference and cruelty. It was a stupid thing to ask."

"Did I answer your question?"

"No."

He leaned back and watched her a moment, "Clint always liked to sleep in the animal tents, at least at first. You know when we were in Carson's circus. He ever tell you about that?" She shook her head no. "I think he liked the smell of the hay and the animals. I think it reminded him of our barn back home. We had a perfectly good tent of our own, but I'd wake up and find him gone. Off with the stinking animals, finding whatever comfort a nine year old cast out of the world could find I guess." He looked past Natasha, "I hated that place. I hated the smell, I hated the animals. I hated it for all the reasons he needed it. It reminded me of the hay-loft back home, of our dad, of all the times I found him crying. Hidin' away from a whirlwind I could never save us from." He glanced at her as if sharing a confidence, "Our dad's storms were an all encompassing, inescapable force of suffering." He took a heavy breath, "That loft was never a refuge for me. I'd watch the house through the cracks in the boards, waiting for dad to leave or come lookin' for us. It was a safe place for Clint, a calm in the storm, but it only brought me more misery." He paused and looked at Steve who was stirring nearby, "I hated him at times for needing that, and for bringing that need into our new life. I hated him for all the hours I spent watching him sleep, cause I couldn't go back to our tent and leave him, but I sure as hell couldn't sleep. Not with all those ghosts he invited pulling at my hair." He looked back to Natasha, "So to answer your question. Yeah I love him, but it's never been easy for either of us. We're too different, and too the same." He grew silent, as did Natasha. All the small physical similarities between he and Clint were jumping out at her now. The blue of his eyes, the curve of his nose. It sucked the fight out of her and she could say nothing else.

A nurse walked toward them, "Clint Barton?" She asked the small group. Steve sat up, he hadn't really been asleep, he had been trying to respect their privacy and not listen in. When they acknowledged her, she continued, "He's stable. You'll be able to see him in a little while. We'll be prepping him for surgery, so you'll only have a few minutes, and only one at a time." As she walked away Steve glanced between the two, "I'll call the others." He pulled his phone from his pocket and walked towards an exit. Natasha glanced at Barney, "Do you want to go first?"

"Nah, Sweetcheeks. Ladies first if you ask me. He'll be wanting to see you more than any of our ugly faces anyways." He gave her a sad little grin and walked away. She watched him go, a tall specter of Clint, down a hallway and out of sight. For the first time Natasha actually hoped he was sticking around, even if only to say goodbye.


	7. Chapter 7

_Rebecca Ferguson: "Teach Me How To Be Loved" &amp; "Freedom" are songs worth a listen after you read-if you're weird like me, and enjoy a little emotional punch in the gut._

_Rated T for language_

_Disclaimer: I still don't own them, but I do have an adorable little lint ball in my pocket that I'm naming Loki and it will be mine, all mine, and no one can stop me! Muwhahahahaha!_

**Bird On The Wire**

By:GalInTheMoon

Natasha walked slowly behind the nurse who was taking her back to Clint's room. Steve had told her to take his visitation time as well. He would see Clint later. She accepted without protest. They had waited over fifteen minutes from the time they had first been told he could be seen before someone came out and got her. The rest of the team would be on their way but would probably not make it before he was in surgery. She would be it, his only visitor before he was back out. The nurse was at least five feet in front of her and stopped at his door. She waited and held it open when Natasha came close. She had already been told what to expect while walking back. The nurse nodded and pulled the door closed as she passed. She stepped through the privacy curtain, her eyes going directly to the bed on her right, and to Clint. The only light on in the room was above him, casting shadows over his face.

She grabbed the only chair in the room and slid it toward the bed. Not that she planned on using it but she wanted it close just in case. She felt beside Clint's legs to make sure nothing was hidden beneath the blanket before sitting beside him. She watched him a moment, taking him in. Less than two days. Had it really only been less than two days since Steve's birthday? She clasped his hand between her own, noting the scrapes and bruises on his knuckles, the tell-tale sign he had gotten some hits in of his own, and watched him. There was no reaction to her presence. She let go long enough to reach into her pocket, take out the arrowhead, and place it in the palm of his hand. She closed his cool fingers around the flint that was hot in comparison.

She looked up at the windows. The curtains were open and she could see another wing of the hospital. It was a kaleidoscope of lives caught in shining rectangles. There was the joy of the maternity ward above them and the quiet of the surgical ward below. Most were still, with one person sleeping or watching television. A single mother sleeping beside her new baby, a man recovering from life-saving surgery making long-term plans for the first time in years. Others were full of motion, of family, and flowers, love, and hope. A joyous welcoming of life that seemed to insult the tears and the first pangs of mourning that were happening in neighboring rooms and floors. She walked over and closed the curtains. Declining her and Clint's place in the spectacle.

He was looking at her when she turned around, his eyes still half closed. He was only partially aware. She could see it in his dilated pupils, his lazy gaze, and flat expression. She took her spot again beside him. The white's of his eyes were blood-shot. The iris of his right marred by a red halo. His hand had tightened over the arrowhead. He watched her a moment before attempting to say anything, "...you okay?" The first part of his question was lost within a crack in his voice. The rest was gravelly and strained.

Natasha wasn't surprised his first thought would be to ask about her. To make sure she was okay. After all, the last time he had seen her she was leaning down on the sidewalk, shot, sheltered beneath Thor. And the man she knew would have put his concern for her before himself any day of the week. "I'm fine. Graze." She kept it simple, short, easy to lip-read. She touched her shoulder. He nodded and licked his lips, glancing down at himself before looking back at her, and closing his eyes. He was back out as quickly and silently as he had woken up.

She looked around the room. It was decorated in shades of white, with a few touches of mint green here and there. A wall of cabinets was across from the bed, and a bathroom was to the left of that. Aside from a small maple nightstand on wheels pushed against the wall with windows, sitting useless, there was little else by way of furnishings. Most of the space was left for machines and equipment, and the potential need for multiple people working around him at once. A plastic bag, no doubt filled with whatever was left of Clint's belongings, sat on the floor beside the nightstand. Something small sitting on the stand caught the limited light and her attention. She gazed at the spot of refracted light, letting her vision fuzz at the edges as moisture stung her eyes. It wasn't time, not yet, no giving in to it yet, she thought as she squeezed her eyes closed a second and pinched the bridge of her nose. She put her head back and stared at the ceiling, before looking at Clint again. If she tried she could almost convince herself he was fine. The time passed too quickly as she sat and silently watched him sleep.

A nurse came in quietly, announcing herself before she pulled back the curtain, "We have to get him ready now, but I'll wait outside and give you a moment."

"Thank you." Natasha said, turning back around and standing, as the other woman left the room. She took his hand and leaned down, kissing him softly on the forehead. The arrowhead had fallen from his hand and onto the bed. She put it in her pocket as she placed his palm on her sternum, his fingers falling into the crescent hollow at the base of her neck, "I'll keep it safe." She knew he wouldn't understand what she had said, that he was possibly too far away to feel her. But if he was even slightly aware he would know she was talking to him, that she was there still. He would recognize the intimate exchange they had shared before. It was a way she had grounded him when he was still adjusting to his hearing loss. How she had brought him back to her, made him focus, be in the moment when he drifted off, swept away by his thoughts and fears. He would watch her lips, feel her voice through his fingers, breath and collect himself. It had given him a place to rally, a point of focus. It had pulled him back from the brink, maybe it could again. She squeezed his hand gently, kissing his fingertips, as his hand tightened around her own. She looked up, hopeful, but his eyes were still closed.

The nurse returned with the surgical techs, and Natasha let go. Gently laying his hand over his chest, rubbing it as she pulled away. Leaving before they had asked. She didn't steal a glance back, she didn't want or need to see. He would be alright. Barney had been right about one thing. Clint could take whatever the world dished out. He could take it and she would be there in the down time, in the moments in between when he needed cover, when he needed a break. She would remain.

When she came out into the waiting area Steve was standing, stretching. The others had yet to show up and Barney hadn't returned. Rogers saw her and took a deep breath, his hands went into his pockets, as he watched her approach, "How is he?"

"He's still out of it." She sat down and rubbed her neck, Steve sitting beside her. "The guys are waiting until he's out. They said to keep in touch, asked if we needed a break. I said no, but if you need to go..."

"I'm staying." She rested her head on the chair, "Let's get some coffee."

"It's almost midnight." he glanced at his watch.

"You planning on taking a nap Rogers?" Natasha stood, "Let's walk. I'm sure there's a machine somewhere on this floor."

The rest of the night passed with him in and out of surgery. Barney drifted back to them, but kept to himself, having come to some decision while away. He gave the distinct feeling he was already gone.

Thor arrived after a while. He was tired of waiting at the tower while Stark and Banner worked down in the lab. He would never get used to hospitals or human fragility for that matter. On Asgard there was no need for places such as this. In fact they needed little more than a single healer. A healer who was woefully unoccupied. But he wasn't going to risk looking the fool by admitting how foreign it all was to him, he felt like he had done that more than enough already. So, he finally sat down and waited. He would follow their lead. A stranger in a strange land, as was becoming the usual. He watched Barney who was busying himself folding a piece of paper. Feeling his gaze, Barney looked up, "So what's your story big guy? You get bit by an experimental gorilla or somethin'?" He called across the gap between them.

Thor's eyes narrowed and he straightened slightly, "I am a son of Allfather and a protector of the realm."

Barney smirked and went back to his folding, "That all?"

"I am also honored to be counted amongst your brother's friends."

Barney looked up at him, "Yeah, I noticed." He kept his eyes on Thor. Ignoring Natasha who sat close to him and was paying attention to the conversation. Watching Barney in the exchange.

"I have sworn to guard him with my life against any threat." By now he had heard the stories. He knew the things Barney had done. If he hadn't trusted him by first impression alone, he definetly didn't now. He wanted him to know, without doubt, what stood between him and ever harming Clint again. He had little to prove. Barney had seen it clearly enough the moment they first met.

"How's that workin' out for ya?" He motioned at their surroundings, pointing out the obvious failure in Thor's guardianship.

Thor leaned forward lost in his guilt a moment before he went on. He disliked many things about the man in front of him, but being his father's son, in the position he held, he had learned to endure the company of many a being he despised. If there was any place where they could meet, any common ground between the two, it was their complicated sibling relationships, "I also have a younger brother."

"Lucky you."

"He has caused much suffering." He couldn't admit that part of that was to Clint himself.

"You don't say." Barney couldn't care less.

"I do. I have been tempted to forsake him, to leave him to his misguided ways, and his fate. But I find I cannot."

"You tryin' to make a point chief?" He went back to his paper.

"No. I am..."

Barney stood without saying a word and walked farther away, cutting off any further communication.

"Nice try." Natasha patted his leg. "Since when have you been sworn to protect Clint?"

"Since Loki...It was a private vow."

She nodded and looked down, "I'm sure he would appreciate it."

A surgeon came out a little while later to let them know the surgery had gone well. Clint was in post-op, but as long as everything went as expected he would be back to his room within the hour. Steve called Tony and Banner once again to update them and once again they chose to remain at the tower working on his hearing aids. It was understandable. They could do so much more focusing on repairing the damaged devices than they could ever do waiting at the hospital.

By the time someone came out to let them know they could see him, one at a time for only a few minutes, Barney had let it be known he would go first. He was ready to say goodbye. They had conceded, there was no denying him that. He was anxious on the walk back, but by the time he made it to the dim room that was turning shades of pink and salmon in the light of dawn, he had collected himself. He pushed through the door without hesitation. It was time to get this over with. He would bare his soul even if it rubbed him raw and then he would move on. He would get back to his life and leave Clint to his own if that's what he wanted. All his plans, all his determination crumbled a little when he saw Clint. He had never actually been around to see him in a hospital, to see him not fighting, but recovering...at least not as an adult. Not since they had grown so far apart. A gown had been draped over him, concealing his chest, and the measures that had been taken to save his life. His left arm was in one of the gown's sleeves resting across his stomach, while his right was raised up and away from his body. The majority of the gown was spread open over the blanket serving little purpose beyond his privacy during visits. His face was turned away from the door, he was watching the sunrise though Barney didn't realize it. He assumed he was still asleep, and he was partially right, he was still far from wide awake. When he walked up to the bed Clint turned, having caught his reflection in the window.

"Hey." He said as he looked his younger brother over. Clint watched his eyes scanning every inch of him. If he believed there was any care or concern in the look he would have accepted it. As it was he just wanted him to suck up his curiosity and look somewhere else already. Barney noticed him watching unhappily, "Cross is one crazy fuck." He said to break the awkward moment, but it did little.

Clint licked his lips, "Not a big fan of yours either."

"Yeah, apparently." He grinned at first, just reacting, but it faded as soon as the thought fully sunk in, "You look like shit."

"Speak for yourself." His voice sounded as battered and bruised as the rest of him, "You look tired Barney."

"Stop or it's gonna go to my head." He looked Clint over again, "I'm sorry Francis, about all this."

Clint didn't respond at first. He was searching for sincerity and was surprised to find it, "That's a first."

"What?" Barney frowned.

"I believe you."

"Pish," Barney smiled, "you couldn't not believe me."

He could run out of breath listing off how many ways that statement was wrong, but he was tired and it was no time to dig up old bones. "Glad you're here, and this..." He looked down at himself, his eyes stopping at his arm, "This isn't your fault." He had played as much a part of what lead them to this as Barney, at least in his own mind. He had chosen the path that lead to S.H.I.E.L.D., the path that lead to the Avengers, and the path that had taken him from his blessed shadows and hidden places. They were all choices that would put him in the path of someone out for revenge eventually, Barney or not. It was simple, obvious, there was no blame or self-pity in the thought. It was what it was. He could feel his eyes growing heavy. He was still so damn tired. Barney shook his shoulder, bringing his eyes back to him, "Hey, hey stick around. We need to talk before I go."

He hadn't caught every word, his head was turned when Barney started talking, but he caught the 'go'. "Now?" He asked.

"Yeah if you can stay awake long enough." He slapped Clint's chest thoughtlessly, "I got this deal going down in Caracas. It could be the big one Fra...Clint." He corrected himself, "I could get a quiet little place by the beach man. Put this shit life behind me for good."

"Caracas." Keeping his eyes open was like trying to lift an elephant with your eyelashes. He was catching less and less of what Barney was saying.

"Yeah, and I, uh, I..." He paused. Clint was drifting. He wasn't going to get to say everything he wanted if he didn't get to it, "I'm gonna have to go. I just wanted to, you know, see you before I left, say goodbye. Tell you I'm sorry for everything." He swiped his hair back. "And I, uh, I needed to say some things."

Clint was passing out and had only read the 'have to go' and 'okay' of what he said. Assuming Barney was asking for some kind of permission to leave, "Itsokay, Go..." His words drifted away, he couldn't fight sleep off any longer.

Barney watched his eyes close. He had to try to say his peace even if he was slipping away. It was a near desperate need. He sat in the chair next to the bed and leaned forward, unaware that Clint couldn't hear him. "Clint, listen. I know I've been a fuck-up of a brother. I know I've...I've let you down too many times. I became the asshole you always told me I was becoming." He grinned a little at the memory of a fourteen year old Clint fuming at him, but it faded as quickly as it appeared, "I never wanted to be that guy, you know. I never wanted to hurt you. You gotta believe me and remember the brother I was. Don't forget who I was. I watched over you. I kept us safe, right. There was a time you looked up to me." He searched Clint's still face before he dropped his head, "I know I failed but I tried Frannie, I tried. I'm sorry I stopped. I'm sorry I gave up. It was just so fucking hard and you didn't need me anymore. You were doin' so good. You were rising up, man, and I, I just stopped to catch my breath and it all went to hell. I'm sorry Fran..." He stopped himself from finishing the name as his thoughts veered for a moment. Their dad had hated his father, but had chosen to pass his name on all the same. He never let Clint, or Barney for that matter, forget he was named after a mean old s.o.b. that would have rather shoved his hat in manure than show his kids an ounce of love or mercy. Why the hell the old man would saddle that shit legacy on his kid was beyond either one of them. He might as well have carved a target on Clint at birth.

He looked away a moment, his jaw clinching, as he came back to the moment and chewed on his next words, "I'm sorry for all of it, but don't forget the good. I need you to remember the good cause I'm not coming back. I know you need me to stay away...you do, I know you do..." He stopped as he was hit with self-realization, he was begging to stay, it slammed shut a mental door. "Anyway. I'm sorry, for whatever it's worth." He waited for some reaction, but Clint didn't move, he was out. He grabbed the bed-rail and leaned farther forward, "Yeah, yeah of course. Barney you dumb fuck." He dropped his head. "Ah, son of a bitch." What was he thinking going there. Clint was out. There was no reaching him and he wouldn't have wanted to hear that bullshit anyway. Of course he had missed his chance, of course, he had missed it lifetimes ago. He stood up, "Bye Frannie." he said reverting back to the name Clint hated but rolled off his tongue so much easier, and walked out of the room, out of the hospital, and out of Clint's life.

By eight in the morning flowers were coming in, some with letters from well-wishers. People were rallying behind "their" Hawkeye and it shocked no one more than Clint. In the days that followed he would get letters from entire elementary classrooms, notes from public figures, and cards from individuals and more flowers than his room could hold. He appreciated the sentiment but it made him uncomfortable. It was just a little jarring after he had been through the wringer of public opinion and found lacking, to then be raised up with adoration once he was laid low before them. But he could see the sincerity where it was and he was humbled. To think that so many cared and just because he was doing what life had lead him to. He was no hero, he was no champion, though they seemed to think so. No one would convince him otherwise. He had seen too much of himself.

He spent the next three weeks in the hospital. The team came by in groups and alone now and then. Tony gave him a hard time about the ridiculous influx of letters and flowers jamming up his tower. Banner kept him updated on how his aids were coming along. They were getting close, and Tony had been right, Stark Industries had played a major part in the originals. All the information they needed to rebuild them to specs Pepper had found tucked away. Banner let it slip that Pepper was beaming when she gave them the good news. Clint knew the look, she had stopped by now and then, filling the room with her smile every time she made him have one of his own. He could see why Tony had fallen head over heels for her.

Thor came by often and Clint grilled him about Asgard. He was going to see it one of these days, come hell or high water. He wasn't sure what his fascination with the place was, but he couldn't deny it. Maybe it was the Valkyrie, or the whole a mythological realm is real shit. As for Steve, he seemed content to let Clint lead the conversation or the silence when he came by. They had watched a few baseball games together without any true conversation taking place or ever seeming to cheer for the same team. Somewhere along the way they forged a stronger friendship molded by a steady stream of silence, baseball, and sporadic motorcycle ravings. Natasha remained a constant, reassuring presence by his side. Often staying through the day and night, sleeping in bed with him once enough of the I.V.'s and monitors had been removed. Pushing him to stay patient and do what he had to do to recover. When he had asked, she recounted the events that had lead up to them being in the street at just the right time. She was honest in the telling, and admitted Barney wasn't there willingly and had made a run for it. He didn't ask anything else about his brother. There was nothing left to ask and nothing else to say. It left him feeling little more than indifference.

It had been a long number of weeks but when the day came for him to be released he was more than ready. It was just he and Natasha collecting his things, impatiently listening through discharge, home-care orders, and signing paper-work until at last he was free to gather his things and go.

"What are you going to do with all of these?" She asked referring to all the flowers as she re-filled an overnight bag she had brought in weeks ago. Half the bag was already filled with cards and letters.

He looked around the room at them, before his eyes came back to her, "They're going to pediatrics. There's a lot of kids with empty rooms up there." He knew because he had seen them first-hand. It turned out the kids really enjoyed getting a visit from Hawkeye, and he really enjoyed visiting the kids. He had even managed to drag Natasha along once, but only once. It had become his Friday night routine once he was able to move around free of all but a couple I.V.'s.

"Your idea?" she asked but she knew it was. He didn't see the point in answering. She already knew and so he moved on. He was collecting his things from around the room, his arm in a sling and strapped to the brace around his chest, when he found the plastic bag with his belongings from that first night. It had been tucked inside one of the wall cabinets. He glanced inside, something catching his attention as he put the bag on the bed, and pulled out a small dark blue ribbon with red at the edges. A medal was dangling form the end. He straightened, "How did, who, how did this get here?" He fumbled over his words, his mind reeling.

Natasha glanced over, "I don't know." She moved closer, "What is it?"

He closed it in his palm, "A Distinguished Service Cross."

"Yours?" She looked at the item in his hand. If it was his, it was the first she was hearing of it.

"No." He looked at it before looking back up at her, "Phil's."

She wanted to throw doubt at him, but she remembered what Barney had said about the suit. "Phil Coulson?"

His mind raced in hundreds of directions. Had Cross had it somehow? Was it another part of his game? Had he left it on him and he hadn't realized it? It wasn't possible that Phil had dropped it off himself, that he was alive. Was it? He sat down.

She sat on her heels in front of him, looking up so he could see her face clearly, "Clint, Barney said a guy in a suit picked him up, flew him over." She left out the he had been forced part intentionally. There was no need for more salt on that particular wound, "He saw him again here in the hospital. It sounded like Coulson but I didn't want to say anything. Not without knowing..." She paused, "Are you sure this belongs to Phil?"

He opened his hand and looked down at the service medal. If it were Phil's it would have a gash out of the back of the metal. A gash made in a long-story he had made sure to never get around to telling Clint. Slowly he turned it over, holding his breath. It was there, plain as day, an egg shaped notch right in the middle. "Son of a bitch." He showed her the mark, "It's his."

She had had more time to consider the possibility, more time to adjust to the thought, but she still seemed more uncertain than Clint. She had seen the damage done to Coulson. It hadn't been a staged death, but Clint hadn't seen him. He had room for uncertainty, and it wasn't unheard of for agents to have to go into deep cover, to have to play dead. Hope would come to him a little more easily. He put it in his pocket alongside the flint arrowhead he had found so long ago. He was just happy to believe there was a chance Phil was out there, still fighting the good fight. If there was anyone in S.H.I.E.L.D. beyond Natasha he would always have faith in, it was Phil Coulson. If he was still out there, maybe there was a chance for all the rest thought lost.

He stood, taking what little he wanted from the plastic bag, and threw the rest in the garbage. "You ready?"

She stood, "Beyond ready."

Throwing the overnight bag over her shoulder, she put one of the flowers behind her ear, and stuck one in his brace. She laid her hand on his chest and he covered it with his own. She looked up and soaked in the shimmer of hope she saw within his eyes. Cross had underestimated just how impossible it was to knock him down. He would always pick himself up, dust himself off, and move on. The only thing in question would be if those who tried him would or not. "Let's go Barton." She finally said. Clint took a deep breath, "Let's go." For the first time in longer than he could remember his name was just a name, it didn't ring with an accusation, or a curse.

**The End**

_Bird On The Wire_

_By: Leonard Cohen_

_Like a bird on the wire,_

_Like a drunk in a midnight choir_

_I have tried in my way to be free._

_Like a worm on a hook,_

_Like a knight from some old fashioned book._

_I have saved all of my ribbons for thee,_

_If I, have been unkind,_

_I hope that you can just let it go by._

_If I, If I have been untrue_

_I hope you know it was never to you_

_Like a baby, stillborn,_

_Like a beast with his horn_

_I have torn everyone who reached out for me._

_But I swear by this song_

_And by all that I have done wrong_

_I will make it all up to thee._

_I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch_

_he said to me "You must not ask for so much"_

_And a pretty woman leaning in her darkened door,_

_She cried to me, "Hey why not ask for more?"_

_Oh like a bird on the wire,_

_Like a drunk in a midnight choir_

_I have tried in my way to be free._

**_A/N: Niom Lamboise asked in her review if there would be a sequel to this. One where we see Barney, Phil, and Clint reunited. I am planning a story that follows up on the package Crossfire sent to Cararcas for Barney (it was briefly mentioned in chapter 5 and easily missed). What he sent Barney will be one more way for him to get revenge and manipulate events. It will force the brothers together again for better or worse. I would love to bring Phil into things but I don't know if it would be possible at this point. I'm still in the planning stage of this one and intend on having it completely written and edited before posting...so it could be a while. Thanks for asking Niom!_**


End file.
